A Regency Romance
by Lydia Hunter
Summary: The Doctor and Rose spend a weekend at a Regency era house party, where everyone mistakenly assumes them to be husband and wife. A further complication arises when the Doctor discovers he's already there ... in one of his previous incarnations.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

**A Regency Romance**

_Author's Notes: Written for the Doctor/Rose ficathon, with the following prompts: 1)the Doctor meeting a previous version of himself, who gives him advice on how to woo/seduce Rose; 2)Regency era, classic English repression and getting over that repression (so, it's actually Gallifreyan repression, so what?); 3) a bad sexual encounter, and making up for that encounter.  
_

* * *

Chapter One

Rose stretched languidly across the console. "Where we goin'?" she asked.

"Ooh, someplace random, I think," the Doctor answered without looking up.

"Random. So … could be a paradise planet, or a slave market, or the middle of a volcano."

"Mm hmm. We might meet fire-breathing dragons, or little old ladies with tiny yapping purse dogs. Or worse, double-glazing salesmen. Oh, hang on," he interrupted himself, as the TARDIS came to a rest with a jarring thud. "Hmm. England, 1812. I'd say the little old ladies are a distinct possibility."

Rose moved to the door and opened it. She stepped into the brisk late afternoon air, inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass. The Doctor's voice still issued from inside the ship. "Lap dogs, though. Nobody'd thought of special satchels to carry them in just yet."

He joined her outside, still pulling on his long coat as he reached her side. He gazed at the surrounding countryside for a moment, then pointed off in the direction of a clump of trees in the near distance.

"They're playing croquet," he said delightedly. "Very popular game in the Regency period. The Victorians loved it even more. D'you play, Rose?" When she shook her head he continued, "Too bad. Maybe I'll teach you sometime. Mind you, it's boring as hell, but great for socialising. You wouldn't believe the sort of things you can pick up in conversation over a good rousing game of croquet. I once overheard the tiniest hint of gossip that helped thwart a particularly nasty civil war while I was playing croquet with Lord Nelson. Got so interested in that I lost our wager, though," he added ruefully.

"They look straight out of _Pride and Prejudice,"_ Rose commented.

"Oh, you've read Jane Austen, then?" he asked, pleased.

She made a face. "Started it a coupla times. Saw the TV series, though. Colin Firth was …" She shivered happily. "Mmm, those tight little breeches or whatever you call 'em."

"Oh, really?"

She gave him a saucy grin. "Jealous?"

"Never."

* * *

The clothes in the TARDIS wardrobe were scrupulously sorted according to type, planet, year, and season. Theoretically. In truth, "sorted" basically meant that there were racks and racks of costumes, some neatly labelled and following some sort of chronological order, some thrown over the tops of mirrors and other bits of furniture, and some hung up randomly here and there so that a Pierrot costume from 1920s France was next to a tribal robe from a planet in the Zaranius system.

Rose managed to find what she needed quickly enough, and proceeded to wriggle herself into a high-waisted afternoon dress of cream muslin in a very short period of time.

She heard a couple of muffled complaints from nearby, and picked her way through the maze till she found the Doctor.

"Look at this!" he grumbled. "I wore these before, for years and years. And now they don't fit me anymore." His fingers held the waistband of the dark red velvet breeches well away from his actual waist. "That's the problem with regenerations. Look at this. It's ridiculous. _And_ I seem to be two or three inches shorter than I was," he added, gesturing down at the hems which dangled well below his knees. The shirt was even more ridiculous. In addition to being too big for him, it had question marks embroidered on the collar for some reason.

Rose gave an involuntary snort of laughter before she managed to quickly stifle it. The Doctor paid no attention as he disappeared round the side of another long rack of clothing.

He reappeared in a couple of moments, wearing a neatly fitting pair of tan breeches, a brown pin-striped waistcoat, dark brown tailcoat and brown knee boots. He stopped in front of a mirror to tie his cravat. "Oh, that's much better," he told his reflection approvingly.

As he looked up to admire the overall view, he caught sight of Rose's image reflected behind him in the mirror and his breath caught. She'd picked up a long ribbon of forest-green satin and was trying to tie it around her blonde hair. The tip of her tongue was just visible at the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, and somehow the rather shapeless gown managed to flatter her figure rather than swallow her up. The whole picture made her look adorably childish and yet irresistibly desirable, and the Doctor swallowed hard.

"Here, try this," he suggested nonchalantly, turning to face her. He took the ribbon from her and reached round behind her back, threading it through his fingers. His thumb grazed the side of her breast as he tied the ribbon just underneath her bosom, and Rose shivered slightly at the contact.

"There. Not bad. Bit more, um, historically accurate. You know." The words themselves sounded completely offhand, but his voice had gone noticeably higher.

* * *

They made their way back to the console room, arm in arm. Halfway there, they could hear a loud beeping noise, like some sort of system alarm sounding.

"What the hell?" the Doctor exclaimed, and took off at a run.

When Rose caught up with him he was standing over the console gaping at the scanner in frank disbelief.

"What is it, Doctor?"

He didn't hear her. "That's impossible," he breathed. "Just … I don't believe it. Not again. It can't be possible. It just _cannot_ be," he repeated.

"What can't be?"

"This sensor. I set it ages ago, just after the Time War. And it's only ever … no. I don't believe it," he said flatly. "It's got to be a malfunction or something. Because otherwise …"

"Otherwise what?" Rose persisted.

The Doctor looked up at her. "Otherwise there's another TARDIS in the immediate vicinity. And that's impossible."

"You said this was the last one in the universe."

"It is."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

There was an expression of absolute and utter stupefaction on his face. His brown eyes were wide and staring, and his breathing was shallow. He went back to staring at the monitor. Rose walked around the console till she was standing at his side.

"Can you trace it?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yeah. Signal's coming from the direction of that house back there."

"Well, we were goin' there anyway," she pointed out.

* * *

The house was further away than it looked. They'd been walking for a good twenty minutes, maybe longer, before they reached the gates. A large brass plate affixed to one of the grey stone pillars bore the legend Wentworth Hall.

Inside the gates the surface changed to loose gravel, and in no time Rose had collected a stone in her shoe. She held onto the Doctor's arm for support while she took off her slipper and dumped out the pebble. With a sigh, she looked ahead at the incredibly long, winding path of the drive.

"How 'bout we cut across the park?" suggested the Doctor. "I don't see any keep off the grass signs, do you?"

She laughed. "Like that ever stopped you."

With a grin, he took her hand and the two of them ran through the grounds, laughing happily.

It was starting to sprinkle a bit by the time they made it to the hall. The Doctor reached for the huge brass knocker on the door and waited. After a moment, a uniformed butler answered the door.

"Hullo," the Doctor said cheerfully. "Is your mistress at home, or possibly the master? We've come to beg shelter from the storm."

The man stared at him blankly. Realising the problem, he started patting his pockets, looking for the psychic paper. He nudged Rose. "Psychic paper," he said under his breath. She produced it from the little reticule strapped to her wrist.

The butler finally let them through the door, and left them standing in a grand entrance hall, saying she would ascertain if the mistress of the house was at home.

"Bit swash," whispered Rose, just to have something to say. "Like someplace a pop star might live."

"Might well do in your time. Just think, we could be standing in Ozzy and Sharon's house, a hundred and forty years before they were ever born."

Rose giggled. "Poor house."

"Well, I did mention lap dogs earlier," said the Doctor irrepressibly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

They made a not entirely successful attempt to stifle their laughter as a young woman of unmistakably serious expression entered the hall.

Most of her thick chestnut hair was pulled to the back of her head, but some was loosened to cluster in ringlets about her face. It was a youthful style, and she couldn't have been more than about eighteen, but she carried herself as stiffly as any stereotypical middle-aged spinster.

"Hullo. I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose," the Doctor said quickly, giving the girl such a theatrical bow that Rose was sure she would take offence.

However, she merely curtseyed politely in return. "Hello. My name is Julia Forsythe. This is my brother-in-law's house. I am afraid he and my sister are out driving at the moment, but I can offer you hospitality until their return. Larkin said you begged shelter from the storm?" She looked quite understandably confused.

"Oh, that's just a joke," explained the Doctor. "Our, er, carriage broke down, you see. A mile or two from here. And it is raining. A bit."

The girl blinked. "How unfortunate! Have you taken harm?"

"Nah, we're fine," said Rose. "Happens all the time with that … carriage."

"I see. Well, do come in and join our party."

* * *

She led them into a large room that to Rose's untrained eyes seemed almost as ornate as what she'd seen of Versailles. Various groups of young people were clustered throughout the room. 

A heavyset, ruddy-faced man in his late twenties held command of the group nearest the door. He broke off his tale of a particularly wily fox he'd encountered and stood up as the group entered.

The man, who was introduced to them as Lord Alemain, reached out and grabbed the Doctor's hand in a crushing handshake. "Jolly good to meet you. D'you know Wentworth at all? He and I were at Cambridge together, you know."

The Doctor, seeing an opportunity to excuse their presence, allowed himself to be steered into his lordship's group. Rose stood where she was for the moment, looking after him and shaking her head.

* * *

For a little while the whole visit seemed great fun, just like seeing some romantic film come to life.

Rose had been quickly taken in hand by a Lady Penelope Wilcox, a woman of about her own age who was clearly one of those natural take-charge types. She led her over to a small group of women who were gossiping while doing needlework.

They began immediately to quiz her about herself and where she was from, in a more genteel manner than she could ever have thought possible. The fact that she came from London seemed to give her some sort of pass, but at the same time a faint undercurrent of disapproval seemed to run through them with everything she said.

Rose, for her part, was just as surprised by their conversation. They were talking about men, same as she and her mates would have been doing, but they were deadly serious about it. Lady Penelope had a fiancé, apparently, and one of the other women was newly married, but the other three were clearly husband-hunting, to put it bluntly. It seemed odd to her that every one of them was her own age or even younger.

One of the girls, Emmeline, gave her age as seventeen. She was the only one of the lot Rose felt immediately at home with. The girl was every bit as man-crazy and clothes-obsessed as Rose or any of her friends had been at that age, with the very important difference that Emmeline's goal was a wedding ring on her finger. Within the next few months, if at all possible. She had high hopes that her first season, whatever that was, would end in an engagement by the autumn.

Rose had been shacking up with a man when she was Emmeline's age, and she _still_ wasn't thinking in terms of marriage. Not that there would ever be any point, of course, with the Doctor, but that was fine with her. The whole thing made her feel terribly old and dreadfully childish at the same time.

Even now the teenager was speculating on her favourite subject. "I daresay Lord Alemain would make a _dreadful_ husband," she said conspiratorially. Lady Penelope chuckled without looking up from her embroidery.

Emmeline's elder sister, who was rather infamously interested in his lordship herself, took the slight rather personally. "Any woman might consider herself quite fortunate to receive the honour of becoming Lady Alemain," she said archly. "He is terribly rich, and very well connected."

"Don't think I'd care 'bout that." Rose spoke up without thinking, her voice low and gossipy. "Any woman with sense'd lock him out the bedroom. Can you imagine wakin' up with _that_ loomin' over ya?"

A collective shudder went through the group at the coarseness of her words. There were some things ladies simply did not discuss, ever.

Rose, sensing she'd messed up, tried to make amends by admiring Lady Penelope's skill with a needle. "'S pretty," she said, leaning over the tapestry.

"Thank you," the other woman replied, with just the faintest touch of frost underneath the civility of her tone.

"Wish I could do that," Rose said, without really meaning it. "Probably just prick myself with a needle and bleed all over everything, though."

"You were never taught needlework?" said one of the other women, absolutely scandalised.

"Nope. Can't imagine my mum even knows what a needle is. 'Sides, when would I get time? Me and the Doctor, we're on the go all the time."

Emmeline gave a dreamy sigh. Who cared about embroidery with a man like that around? "Your Doctor is very handsome," she told Rose.

Rose followed her gaze across the room to where the Doctor sat, deep in conversation and gesticulating wildly. As usual, he'd already made himself the center of attention. "Oh, yeah," she agreed. "Problem is, he's actually as handsome as he _thinks_ he is. Dangerous for a man to know that sort o' thing."

This time, instead of being offended by her words, all her companions were amused.

* * *

The Wentworths were only mildly surprised to find themselves with two new unexpected guests when they returned from their afternoon drive. 

The Doctor bounced up to greet them, and Alemain lumbered to his feet and attempted to perform a proper introduction. "This is … hang on, dash it, I seem to have forgotten your names."

"The Doctor and Rose Tyler," the Doctor said, nodding to Rose as she came over to join them. After a few words of polite greeting from their hosts, he said shrewdly, "I hear you were at Cambridge. Was there myself, actually. Few years ahead of you, probably."

"Really?" said the host. "Small world. What college?"

"St. Cedd's, same as you. Remember good old Professor Chronotis?"

Wentworth blinked and thought back. "I don't … oh, yes. Chronotis. Queer old bird. He was your tutor?"

"Something like that," the Doctor answered truthfully. "From time to time."

"Quite, quite," Wentworth said vaguely. "I was told your carriage broke down outside our grounds. Rosemary, we cannot leave a St. Cedd's man without accommodation. Order one of the servants to prepare a room for Dr. Tyler and his wife."

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a startled look. Rose opened her mouth to correct the misapprehension, then thought better of it, given her experiences with the women's circle. The Doctor was, for once, quite literally speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Dinner that night was a bit stressful for Rose. To her disappointment she wasn't permitted to sit anywhere near the Doctor, as "husbands and wives" were apparently never seated together. Instead, she was seated between Alemain, who endangered her eardrums, and a diffident young man with the opposite problem, whose name she could never manage to actually hear.

Alemain started twice to talk about the latest news regarding Napoleon's armies, only to be quickly and politely stifled by Mrs. Wentworth's changing the subject. Rose could almost sympathise with the man; the first time he'd brought up the subject she started to question him about the details, only to catch the Doctor's eye and have him shake his head no. Apparently "ladies" weren't supposed to hear or know anything about what was going on in the world, either.

She entertained a few rebellious thoughts along the lines of forcing the Doctor to take her to one of those female-dominated worlds next trip, but came to the disheartening conclusion that her own sex wasn't exactly coming off tops, either.

It took a couple of courses for her to notice that some of the other women in the party seemed to have an unnatural interest in watching her eat. In particular, every time a different dish was served, they looked at her hands. She wondered what they were playing at, then finally realised they were assessing her table manners.

Another course was served, and the same thing happened once more. As she'd done all along, Rose surreptitiously glanced around the table to make certain she was on solid ground, then picked up the correct fork without appearing to have hesitated at all. Instant adaptability, she thought. Single best survival skill she'd picked up travelling with the Doctor. Even if it only meant figuring out which fork to use to keep from embarrassing herself.

* * *

The ladies were also expected to retire to their own pursuits after dinner, leaving the gentlemen to smoke and discuss all those things that weren't considered suitable for mixed company.

Rose momentarily considered rebelling, but the Doctor had been anticipating just such a reaction. He leaned across the table as far as he could in her direction. "We'll join you later, Rose," he said quietly. The mutinous scowl she gave him brought a grin to his face.

On the way past his chair she stopped, managing somehow to conquer the instinct to give him a good pinch right on the shoulder, and whispered, "I thought we were gonna look for this other TARDIS."

"Later," he replied under his breath.

So she had no alternative but to follow the others out of the dining room and into a plainer and marginally smaller version of the room she'd been in earlier that evening, where followed a repeat of the earlier activities.

There was music, too, courtesy of Emmeline's sister Margaret. As she began to play the spinet in the corner, Mrs. Wentworth said thoughtfully, "We should dance tomorrow evening, I think. In honour of our new guests."

Her sister considered the matter gravely. "Yes, perhaps it might be a nice idea. We have not had a dance in days."

They both looked towards the newcomer, as if soliciting her opinion. She said, "Well, I like dancin'." The others breathed a discreet sigh of relief. Finally a tiny bit of common ground with this bizarre creature that had unexpectedly landed in their midst.

"No, the top stitch goes the other way, my dear."

Rose laughed. "I'm hopeless. All thumbs."

Rosemary Wentworth, who was a kind woman and a gracious hostess, had offered to teach her apparently unskilled guest the basics of embroidery. So far Rose had barely mastered how to get the needle to the correct place on the underside of the canvas.

The needle was much larger and thicker than she'd expected, and the stitches she was supposed to emulate seemed impossibly small. She'd pricked herself several times, just as she'd expected, but shrugged it off and continued with a frown of concentration.

And then the big needle slipped somehow and dug through about an inch of skin on the side of her thumb. Rose swore and stuck her thumb in her mouth to quench the bleeding.

"Oh, my dear, have you hurt yourself?" Rosemary asked quickly, her voice full of genuine concern.

"Not much," mumbled Rose through the mouthful of flesh. "Jus' my dignity."

"Come with me," her hostess insisted, standing up and urging Rose to her feet. "We must clean the wound immediately."

She took her to the scullery and put her in the capable hands of an elderly servant, who briskly poured water over the cut and then sat Rose down at a large table, turning away for a second to hunt up a foul-smelling green unguent of some kind. Rose tried to snatch her hand away, but the woman's grip was deceptively strong. She applied the goop, wrapped the thumb in a rag that had seen better days, and nodded dismissively, all without saying a word.

Rose got up and made her way back up to the parlour or whatever it was. The music had stopped in her absence, but she could hear snatches of conversation through the partially open door. Just as she was about to enter the room, something made her stop. Had she just heard the Doctor's name?

"…married beneath him, obviously," someone was saying.

"My dear, have you never seen someone so _common?"_ asked someone else.

Margaret Rodgers added tartly, "Certainly I have. Scrubbing floors!" This witticism was greeted by a peal of laughter that made Rose's blood boil.

"_I_ cannot say which is worse, her speech or her manners," put in one of the young women. "And that painted face! Hardly fit to be in the company of respectable people."

Rose seethed. "Yeah, but at least I got better manners than you lot," she said to herself. "Barely wait till I'm out o' the room 'fore you start."

"Why would a man such as that land himself with such a wife as her?"

Emmeline's piping voice said, "Well, she is very pretty. Although the Doctor is altogether better looking."

"Well, _he_ sounds just a bit beyond the pale himself, if you ask me," put in Julia. "His accent is almost as bad as hers. And his sense of humour is quite … odd."

"His speech is merely affected, I should say. One of those things men do for some reason." That was Lady Penelope's only comment. She sounded rather bored by the entire conversation.

"Such as marry their charwomen?" hooted Margaret. Several of the others laughed, and Rose reached for the door handle, ready to charge back in and give them what for.

The touch of a small hand on her wrist stopped her. "Are you feeling better now, Mrs. Tyler?" her hostess asked. Rose was somehow relieved to find she hadn't been part of that mockery.

Rose sighed and took her hand away from the door. "Bit queasy, actually. Maybe I'm not quite up for company tonight."

"Oh, my dear, I am sorry to hear that," she said kindly. "We were hoping to get to know you a bit better. I suppose it was the sight of the blood."

"Yeah, that's it," Rose lied. "Bit sensitive to blood."

Mrs. Wentworth looked a touch queasy herself as she rested one hand on her stomach. "I do sympathise. The sight of certain things of that nature make me rather ill these days, as well. Perhaps if you were to rest in a quiet room for a bit, you might feel well enough to join us later."

Rose doubted it, but she didn't want to hurt her feelings. "Yeah, maybe."

* * *

She was taken to the library, which contained a kind of sofa on which she was invited to rest.

"Will this suit?" her hostess asked anxiously.

"Oh, yeah," Rose assured her. "Great. Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

"Very well. Do join us again later if you feel well enough. The men should be rejoining us shortly, if my husband remembers his manners."

"Your husband is one of the few gentlemen in the party likely to remember his manners, from what I've seen," a masculine voice interrupted. Mrs. Wentworth started in surprise and Rose looked around to see who their unknown companion might be.

A tall form moved out of an alcove into the women's line of vision. He had a shock of thick, white hair, and Rose assumed at first he was an elderly man. But when he moved further into the lamplight, she could see his face was a bit younger than she'd thought. He was elegant in a completely different fashion than the men she'd met so far today.

"Oh, Doctor," Mrs. Wentworth greeted him, and Rose started in surprise. "I was not aware you were in here."

The man gave smiled at her fondly. "Yes. Your father's asleep now, and I thought I'd come in here and read for awhile."

"Yes, of course." She turned to Rose and said, "Permit me to introduce Dr. Smith, an old and dear friend of my father's."

Rose very nearly said, "Hi!" but stopped herself just in time. She was learning, it seemed. Instead, she merely smiled pleasantly and nodded hello.

"Doctor, this is Mrs. Tyler. She and her husband arrived earlier in the evening.

Dr. Smith took her hand in his and inclined his head very slightly. "Pleased to meet you, madam."

"I can find another room in which for you to rest," Mrs. Wentworth told Rose. "It would be no trouble, if you do not want company."

"No. I'll be fine here," Rose reassured her once again.

"If you are quite certain…"

"She'll be fine, Rosemary," the man interrupted decisively. "If the girl's ill, I'm a doctor. If she just wants quiet, I won't even speak to her if she doesn't want me to."

Mrs. Wentworth bowed to his obvious authority and left the room, although they could both tell she was still inclined to fuss overmuch. When the door closed behind her the other two looked at one another and breathed a sigh of relief.

The doctor's eyes twinkled as he smiled at Rose. _"Are_ you ill?"

"Nah, jus' a bit fed up, that's all."

Her companion burst into laughter. "Yes, I can see why, with that lot."

Then, true to his word, he retired to his alcove once again, leaving Rose to her own devices. She grabbed a book at random and sat down to read. It turned out to be an extremely dry volume of religious essays and she put it straight back down again. She got up and scanned the shelves for anything remotely resembling a novel. Unfortunately, this was one of those proper households where scandalous things such as that were certainly not kept out in the open if they existed at all.

She sat back down again, but was on her feet and exploring the room in no time. Idly, she wandered over to where Dr. Smith was and leaned over the table, looking at the pile of manuscripts he had spread out in front of him. He looked up at her and grinned.

"Bored already, are you?"

"Bit, yeah."

"Thought you might be. Very well, I'll come and talk to you if you'd like." He stood up and carefully put away the texts before he blew out the lamp and joined Rose on the sofa.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked. Rose explained about the incident and about being treated by the weird woman in the scullery, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, well, Kaddy's miraculous herbal ointment should do the trick. Kill almost as many germs as that filthy rag adds to it. You'd better let me change that dressing for you."

He got up and disappeared through what she assumed was an inner door, reappearing a minute or two later with a strip of clean cotton.

"There's this old woman lives on the Powell Estate, where I grew up," Rose told him while he worked on re-bandaging her thumb, "and she sells herbal cures and things like that ointment. You know, folk remedies and stuff like that. Lots o' people swear by her, but a bunch of others act like she's tryin' to poison their kids or something. Say she's a gypsy, only she never moves anyplace."

He chuckled. "Kaddy's been with the Forsythes – that's Mrs. Wentworth's family – for ages. Comes from Brittany, originally, and is popularly supposed to be a witch. I suppose she is, of a sort. Depends on your definition, I imagine."

"I've never met a real witch before," Rose told him. "Seen some strange things, but not that. Met ghosts – 'cept they weren't really ghosts – and, y'know, sort of monsters. Sort of things most people wouldn't believe exists. I never used to."

Dr. Smith pondered for a long time before he replied. Then, quietly, he told her, "It does exist, though. There's all manner of things out there beyond human comprehension."

"Yeah, the fun stuff," Rose said happily.

He tried to give her a severe look, but it didn't work in the face of her genuine enthusiasm. So he beamed at her and said, "As you say, Mrs. Tyler, the fun stuff."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

As soon as the Doctor closed the door of the bedroom they'd been given, Rose turned and put her arms around him, holding her body as close to his as she could manage. His arms encircled her automatically and she gave a kind of growl of satisfaction as she squeezed him back.

"Hey," he said softly, bringing his hand up to her face to gently stroke her cheek.

"Feel like I haven't seen you all _day,"_ she complained. "And I don't think they'd be too fond of public displays of affection here."

He laughed. "Nope. Something they have in common with, ooh, most of the universe, in fact. Your civilisation's one of the only ones that encourages that sort of thing."

He was just about to go into some considerable detail about the differing social mores on various planets and in various time periods when she interrupted him.

"Shame. Especially with tonight being our weddin' night an' all ... Dr. Tyler."

The Doctor choked. He opened his mouth to make some sort of startled protest, but no words would come out. While his jaw worked uselessly, Rose patted his sides and skipped away from him playfully. Everything about her body language cried, "Gotcha!"

"Don't worry," she laughed. "Won't hold ya to it."

She moved around to the far side of the bed and flopped down on her stomach, grinning up at his disconcerted expression.

The Doctor sighed and said, "Rose Tyler, you'll make an old man of me yet."

He fished in his breast pocket for the psychic paper and glanced at it. "No. Just has our names on it, that's all. Doesn't say, 'Dr. and Mrs. John Tyler' or anything. Still," he considered, stretching out on his back, his head coming to rest next to hers, "you can't blame them for jumping to that particular conclusion, I suppose. Only natural in this time and place to assume that a man and a woman ... travellin' together ... and we're clearly not brother and sister."

"Clearly not," said Rose decidedly. "Anyway, they're marriage obsessed, that lot. All the girls sound like there's nothin' else in the world for 'em but to get a husband. Doesn't even matter what sort of man he is, apparently." She shuddered.

The Doctor nodded, sucking in his breath thoughtfully. "Marriage or servitude, that's a woman's only chance of survival in this world. That'll be why they're here, you see. Get to know marriageable young men. Secure their future."

Rose made a face. "Sounds like _Regency House Party,"_ she said.

The Doctor was confused. "It is a Regency house party."

"No, I mean that show they had on Channel 4. Had a whole series of 'em. People had to go and pretend to live in some period of history or other, see what it's like. Mum loved the Regency one – bit like a datin' show."

"Oh, _that,"_ said the Doctor with distaste. "Never watched much past _1900 House_. Typical humans – couldn't abandon their own mindset long enough to play by the rules."

She moved her face closer to his and said in a low voice, "Must be why you like us so much, Doctor – cos you _never_ play by the rules. Anyway," she added, turning on her side, "I thought we were s'posed to be here looking for another TARDIS."

"Oh, we'll do that later."

"What you said earlier," she pointed out.

"It still _is_ earlier. We can't go prowlin' around somebody's house when there's a whole houseful of people who're awake to hear us prowlin' round the house they're awake in."

Rose thought of a few ways to kill time while they were waiting, like, say, consummating this pretend marriage of theirs, but the Doctor was already becoming distracted.

He sat up suddenly and announced, "Think I'll go check out the library, though, while I have a chance. You get some rest. I'll wake you when the household settles down."

The chintz bedcovers rustled as he got up, so he didn't hear the small sigh of disappointment from Rose.

"Maybe Dr. Smith is still there," she said. "You'd like him."

"Ah, your mystery man. Suppose I would like to get a chance to look at my rival, at that," he teased. Rose simply stuck her tongue out at him cheerfully.

* * *

Rose woke abruptly. In the dim light from the oil lamp beside the bed, she could see the Doctor's face approximately four inches from her own. His eyes were open and staring at her unblinkingly.

She moved back quickly. "Can't you ever wake me up normally?" she asked in irritation. "Y'don't have to keep varyin' the routine. Promise I won't get bored."

"Where's your key?" he asked.

"What?"

"Your key. I need your TARDIS key."

"Can't you just use yours?" she yawned.

"I need both of them."

Rose climbed out of bed, stretched in an attempt to rouse herself, and slipped on a dressing gown. The fire in the grate was burning very low and the room was chilly. She searched the floor, bleary-eyed, until she spotted her reticule in the spot where she'd dumped it last night.

As soon as she'd dumped the contents on the bed, the Doctor grabbed the key. Rose picked up the other contents – her mobile phone and a tube of mascara – and dropped them in the pocket of her robe.

The Doctor put their two keys side by side and inspected them. Oh, yes. It would definitely work. He lined them up on the bedside table and zapped them both with the sonic screwdriver. Then, changing the setting quickly, he inserted each of the keys into one of the open slots of the facing of the screwdriver.

"Wha' you doing?" Rose asked curiously.

"Using the residual TARDIS energy from the keys to make a biometric temporal scanner."

"A what, then?"

"A TARDIS sniffer-outer."

* * *

"Wouldn't it find something if it was in the house?" asked Rose quietly.

They'd started with their own wing of the house first, the Doctor carefully moving his cobbled-together device up the walls and along floor and ceiling. At every door he stopped for a moment to take a reading.

He whispered back impatiently, "Doesn't have the range. Only about four metres at the outside."

It took ages before they finished the corridor, and all it garnered them was the negative result the Doctor had expected. Then suddenly, just as they turned into the next wing, there was a sudden power surge that made the tip of the sonic screwdriver glow bluer just for a second.

Rose grabbed the Doctor's arm excitedly. He scowled at the device as the glow disappeared. He pointed it at the floor and swept it back and forth repeatedly.

"Come on, come on. Show me ..." he urged, but it remained stubbornly inert. "Just a glitch."

There were no other glitches in the corridor, and eventually they conceded defeat and turned back. Just as they were reaching their own wing, a ringing sound from Rose's dressing gown shattered the silence in a way that was more than a bit startling.

She fumbled for her phone, almost dropping it in her urgency as she pulled it out. She hit the button and hissed, "I'll call you later!"

The two of them exchanged a quick glance and took off for their room, running as swiftly as they could without making any noise. As soon as they were safely inside, the Doctor blew out the lamp, and they sat in darkness, listening for sounds of disturbance in the house.

"Think anybody heard us?" Rose asked finally.

"Nah, doesn't sound like it. Might have heard _something_, but they won't know what it was. That was your mother, wasn't it?" he accused suddenly. "No one else can ever interrupt anything as thoroughly as Jackie."

Rose checked the call log and nodded. "Better see what she wanted," she said, already making the call.

The Doctor lay back on the bed, listening in irritation as Rose went through the usual sort of question and answer. He had to admit Jackie didn't ring her daughter that often, but when she did, it was generally at the worst possible time and for the worst possible reason. Never calling them back to Earth for anything interesting; just a chat that always managed to turn into an interrogation.

The conversation went on for some time, but the Doctor didn't really bother listening to it. About the third or fourth time Rose said, "No, Mum ... we're really not in danger. We're at a house and we didn't want to wake anybody up. No. Well, they don't have phones here. Yeah, honestly, no phones. No, I'm not makin' excuses, Mum. It's the middle of the night here. Yeah, but ..."

She pulled the phone away from her ear, waiting for Jackie to finish her tirade. The Doctor took it away from her. "Jackie?" he said affably. "Yeah, it's me. Nope, no danger. Yep, no phones, that's right. Well, you see, they don't have phones because Alexander Graham Bell won't be born for another thirty-five years. So the ringing would seem a bit scary in the middle of the night. Well, it's five o'clock in the morning here, and Rose and I are just going to bed now, okay? Bye, Jackie."

He pushed the end call button, then as an added measure turned off the mobile completely. He handed it over to Rose and said unbelievingly, "It's three in the afternoon there. Therefore, it should be three in the afternoon where we are. Your mother just doesn't get the whole interaction of relative time, does she? And I _really_ should not have said we were just going to bed, should I?" he frowned. "She'll think we're, you know."

Rose shrugged off his concerns. "She already knows we are, so I don't think it matters. Anyway, we don't have to go to bed. Still have time to go through another corridor or two. Huntin' stray TARDISes. You'd like that, yeah? Doctor?"

Something didn't seem quite right with him. From the first he'd been unenthusiastic about this whole search, and she didn't understand his attitude. If there was another TARDIS, there could be another Time Lord. Another survivor.

"Why don't you want to find it, Doctor?" she asked sternly. "Are you so used to the idea of thinkin' of yourself as the Last Of The Time Lords that you can't stand to—"

"I am the last."

"But if there's another TARDIS," she began.

"There isn't another TARDIS, Rose. Not a real one, not anymore. It's a false alarm. It's always a false alarm."

"What d'you mean not a real one?" she went on tenaciously. "A fake TARDIS? Someone tryin' to ..."

The Doctor turned away from her. "Not fake -- dead. They're always dead. Every single one of them. Nothing left. Just bits and pieces of husks that _used_ to be TARDISes."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Wentworth Hall had had a justifiable reputation for the last three generations of possessing one of the finest collections of horseflesh in all of Somerset. Arthur had not only inherited the family passion for horses, but had also made vast improvements in the stables themselves.

So when his unexpected houseguest cornered him this morning and inquired about the possibility of borrowing a horse, he was delighted to have the opportunity of showing off his pride of possession.

"I'm certain you are anxious to find out what has become of your own horses, Doctor."

"My own horses?" asked the Doctor, puzzled. Then it hit him. Ah, yes. If he ostensibly had a carriage, then it must have had horses to pull it. Grabbing for the easiest lie he could think of on the spur of the moment he said, "Yeah, my own horses. Um, broke harness when the, er, carriage broke down. And they ran away."

Wentworth was instantly concerned. "That is a pity. Perhaps I should send some of my men to search for them. Tragic to let anything happen to valuable animals."

"Uh, no, that's okay," the Doctor answered hastily. He elaborated, "They were hired, you see. Locally. I hired them locally. They'll have just headed home."

"If you feel quite certain, sir," his host agreed doubtfully. "Either way, Valentine is my most reliable horse. You should have no worries about that sort of thing happening with her."

"Thanks."

They left the stables and strolled back towards the Hall, Wentworth still holding a monologue about his favourite subject that the Doctor only half listened to. Rounding a corner at the back of the house, they caught sight of another party, consisting of Mrs. Wentworth, her younger sister, and an elderly man slumped in a wheeled chair. They were accompanied by a second man, who was tall and white-haired.

"Come ahead and meet the Admiral, my wife's father," Wentworth invited. "He is quite frail, but his faculties are unimpaired. He enjoys taking the air at least once a day, more if his lungs can manage the strain."

They increased their speed only slightly, but soon overtook the others.

"Hello, my dear. Julia. Good morning, Admiral." Wentworth raised his voice slightly as he addressed his father-in-law. "Are you well this morning?"

The old man muttered something that the Doctor didn't quite catch. There was something vaguely familiar about him, he thought. Just enough resemblance to the way he might have looked when he was younger, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

"He says he passed a comfortable night, Arthur," the other man interpreted.

The question of the old man's identity had distracted the Doctor momentarily, so he hadn't actually bothered to pay attention to the tall man till this instant. But when he spoke, the uncanny familiarity of the voice caused the Doctor to bring his head up violently.

He stared at the profile in shock, unable to believe what his own eyes were telling him. As if on cue the other man turned around, and the Doctor found himself looking into a face he hadn't worn in centuries.

The other man – the other _Doctor – _ gazed at the newcomer for a long moment, puzzled. His lips tightened in irritation as he realised he wasn't imagining things.

Rosemary Wentworth, blissfully unaware of any tension in the atmosphere, turned to the newcomer with a friendly smile. "Oh, good morning, Dr. Tyler," she said pleasantly. "I hope you both slept well?"

"Um, yeah," stammered the Doctor. "We slept. Good bed … very, er, big. And comfortable."

"I am glad to hear it. This is my father, and his old friend, Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith has kindly been acting as Father's physician during his visit. Doctor, allow me to introduce Dr. Tyler."

The so-called "Dr. Smith" shook himself out of his reverie and approached the newcomer. He took his hand in a grasp that was just a little _too_ firm, and shook it just a touch too energetically.

"You!" he whispered.

"Yup. Me," answered his other self, sotto voce. "Well, actually, you, in fact."

The white-haired man said loudly, "Delighted to make your acquaintance … Doctor."

"Same here. Doctor."

The two men continued to study each other in silence, till the others were almost uncomfortable. The level of tension was palpable, and completely outside their understanding.

"Dr. Smith," said Julia nervously, "do you not think Father has taken enough of the morning air?" She fussed around the invalid, adjusting blankets that needed no adjustment.

He turned to her. "Yes, my dear, I certainly do. Admiral, you let your daughters take you back inside, and I'll see you later. I'd like to have a few words with _Dr. Tyler_ if you don't mind."

Arthur Wentworth blinked in surprise, understanding somehow that he was being dismissed as well. "Oh. Yes, quite. I shall see about having Valentine readied for you, Dr. Tyler."

"Valentine? What's Valentine?"

"My horse," answered the Doctor, as Wentworth headed back in the direction they'd come. "Well, his horse, actually. He's lending her to me."

They circled one another warily. Youthful blue eyes gazed into brown eyes that seemed as old as time itself.

At length one of the Doctors – the younger-looking, older Doctor – spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I might ask you the same question. Minus the vulgarity, of course. I presume the Time Lords have sent you."

The Tenth Doctor's face went rigid. "No," he said, in an awful voice. "Absolutely nothing to do with the Time Lords."

"Somehow I rather doubt that. Well, you might as well tell me what's going on. Is it the Master again? Or some _other_ trouble they want meddling in?"

"I've told you, it's nothing to do with the Time Lords," was the angry reply. "Just a coincidence that we both happened to turn up here at the same time."

"Now, look, my dear fellow, if this _is_ a coincidence, it shouldn't be happening."

"I _know_ it shouldn't be happening."

The Third Doctor looked grave. "The two of us being here at the same time could cause all manner of temporal instability."

His companion nodded. "You … don't know the half of it," was all he managed to say.

"Well, you'd better leave, in that case."

The Tenth Doctor, who had been thinking exactly the same thing, turned suddenly recalcitrant. "We've been invited to stay, actually. Why don't _you_ leave?"

"I've been invited to stay as well. You do remember Admiral Forsythe, I presume?"

Oh, _that_ explained why the old man seemed familiar. "Yeah, course," he replied nonchalantly. "Met him at the battle of, um, whatsit. Saved Jo Grant's life. Had no idea this was his house, though."

"His son-in-law's," corrected the other Doctor. "Anyway, the Admiral is dying. I promised his daughter I'd look after him for a bit. Possibly even keep him around long enough to see his first grandchild."

"Very noble of me."

The two of them began to stroll aimlessly through the grounds.

* * *

"Which me are you, incidentally? How many regenerations have I gone through?" 

"Nine of 'em. So I'm Doctor number ten."

"Yes, I could just about work that out," the Third Doctor answered witheringly. "Would I be right in assuming that delightfully anachronistic young woman I met last night is travelling with you?"

"Yep. That's Rose. Told me she met somebody interesting last night. Should've known it was just me," he laughed.

The other one thought it over, replaying the previous night's conversation in his mind, realising there was one thing that didn't quite add up. "And you're travelling with her husband as well?"

The Tenth Doctor replied absently, "Oh, no, I'm her husband."

The younger Doctor stopped abruptly, staring at himself in consternation. _"What?"_

The other realised what he'd just said, and backtracked hastily. "No. No, no, no, no, no. Not her _actual_ husband. Not _literally_ her husband, because we're not married. I mean, she's not married, and I'm not married – not anymore – well, of course, you remember that," he babbled. "So we're certainly not married to each other. We're just sort of … erm…"

"Pretending?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He thought it over. "Dunno, really," he admitted. "Just sort of happened."

* * *

They walked side by side in uncomfortable silence. The Tenth Doctor opened his mouth several times to begin one of his long, rambling speeches, then thought better of it each time and remained subdued. 

As they approached the front of the house, the Third Doctor finally said, "I say, this is getting a bit ridiculous. The two of us walking about for ages and barely saying a word. I'm hardly civil to myself."

"Just what I was thinking. Two of the ten most talkative men in the universe – well, two of the ten most talkative _man_, anyway – and I'm barely talking to myself at all. Which some would claim is a sign of sanity."

"Clearly there's only one solution, as I see it, and that's for you to find your young friend and be on your way."

"Or you could leave and we could stay," the Tenth said stubbornly. "Or we could all leave. Or we could all stay and simply be very, very careful. Anyway, I don't have to find her, she's right over there. Rose!" he shouted. "Come and say hello to your new friend."

Rose, who had been standing on the grass talking to one of the other women, turned at the sound of his voice. Her face lit up when she saw him, a fact which did not go unnoticed by the other Doctor.

She ran to join them in what would be undoubtedly be considered unseemly haste, and linked her arm through her Doctor's.

"Good morning, Rose Tyler," he greeted her, grinning like a maniac. "Have you met the Doctor?"

She smiled at them both. "Yeah, he's the one I told you about last night. Morning, Dr. Smith. Glad you two finally met."

"Ooh, we've known each other a long time, haven't we, Doctor? Least I've known him."

"Nice to see you again, my dear," the Third Doctor interrupted. "As your friend is trying to tell you in his own rather convoluted way, my name isn't actually Smith."

"It's not?" She wondered what it possibly mattered.

"No," he said, taking her hand. "I'm simply called the Doctor."

Rose was puzzled. "He's got the same name as you?" she asked her Doctor.

"Yeah. Exactly the same as me. In fact, he is me. Well, an earlier me. Version 3.0 if you will."

"I don't get it," she said flatly.

The Third Doctor smiled sympathetically at her. He had a certain amount of experience at explaining this sort of thing, which he fervently hoped his older self hadn't needed in a very long time.

"Well, you see," he began, "we are both the Doctor. Same man, different regenerations. You do know about regeneration, I take it?" When she nodded he continued, "I am the second regeneration, which makes me the third Doctor, and this fellow here that you're pretending to be married to is the —"

The conversation was interrupted at this critical moment by Arthur Wentworth, who hailed the Doctor – well, one of them, anyway – and came over to them, leading a big chestnut horse.

"Doctor! I have your horse saddled and ready for you. How are you this morning, Mrs. Tyler?"

"Fine," she replied absently. Then, turning to her version of the Doctor, she demanded to know, "What d'you need a horse for?"

The men paid no attention to her. "You should have no trouble with Valentine. One of the steadiest mares I have ever had the pleasure to ride."

"Ta, Arthur. Hey! I _had_ a horse called Arthur, once. For about five minutes. Had to leave it in France. Rose wouldn't let me keep it."

Wentworth laughed. "My wife is much the same way about my stables. I suspect our good ladies simply cannot be expected to understand such matters."

"Um, yeah," the Doctor said cautiously, heading him off as he caught sight of Rose's stormy face. "Well, I'd better be off, now. Back before you know it. Cheers."

He mounted the horse in the showiest way possible. His younger self snorted derisively at the exhibition. Wentworth, however, nodded approvingly and headed back to his house, satisfied that his guest knew how to handle the animal.

"Rose, fancy a turn round the gardens before I go?"

She looked doubtful. "On that thing? Don't think —"

The Doctor reached down and grasped her under the arms, sweeping her up in front of him with that deceptive strength of his.

"Oh," she said, a bit breathlessly. "All right, then."

They took off on a circuit round the inside of the walls, cantering prettily. Clearly he was still showing off for the other Doctor.

"Is that _really_ you?" Rose asked in amazement.

"Yep."

"That supposed to happen? Meetin' yourself?"

"Nope."

She thought about it. "'Kay, then. Now, _why_ the horse?"

"Nice way to get into the right time period," he shrugged. "The maid who came in to do our fire this morning was telling me all about how famous the Wentworth stables are, and the idea just kind of popped into my head. Get one for you, if you like. A horse, I mean."

"And where was I when you were talkin' to this maid?" Rose interrupted.

"You were right there. Still asleep. Drooling on my shoulder, as a matter of fact."

"I was not!" she protested.

"Were, too."

"Doctor, I do not drool in my sleep."

He answered her with the kind of mocking snort that only a man who knows for sure can manage.

They reached the far wall and turned to head back. "Rose," the Doctor said solemnly, "Don't tell him anything while I'm gone. Especially about the Time War. He can't know his future."

"'Course not, Doctor, I'm not stupid."

"No. No, you're not. And he knows better than to ask. Still, best to just sort of ... keep away from him."

"But I like him. He's _you._ Only charming," she teased.

"Oh, yeah," agreed the Doctor glumly. "Too charming for my own good, always have been. And I used to be quite the ladies' man in my younger days."

Rose laughed. She leaned her head against his chest and grinned up at him flirtatiously. "And what are you now?"

"Old enough to know better?"

"Doubt it," she said, just as they arrived back at their starting point.

The Third Doctor approached and held out his hand to help Rose down. For a moment she didn't take her eyes off her Doctor. She moved her face closer to his, and he did the same. The younger Doctor watched interestedly, to see if he would actually go ahead and kiss her, but at the last instant he pulled back and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

Rose did the same. She allowed herself to be helped off the horse, and kept hold of the Third Doctor's hand just a tiny bit longer than was quite necessary. The look the two men exchanged a look that wasn't entirely friendly and nice.

"Rose – remember what I said, right?"

As he rode off through the gates, the other Doctor asked, "What did he say?"

"That I'm to stay away from you," she muttered rebelliously.

He laughed. "I'm hardly likely to ask you leading questions about my future, as he quite well knows. However, would you like to have a look at my TARDIS, Rose? See a little of his past?"

She grinned. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot, Doctor," she replied defiantly, and the two of them walked off arm in arm.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Rose wandered around the control room of the Third Doctor's TARDIS, unable to believe her eyes.

It had been strange enough just walking through the huge inner doors instead of straight in through the shell of the police box, but the rest of the room had really taken her by surprise.

"It's so _different,"_ she said. "Colour's different, shape's different, floor… Console's really, _really_ different. It's just … wow."

The control room seemed smaller, somehow, but she wasn't absolutely certain of the fact. The ceiling was much lower, and not domed like the room she was used to. The soft golden glow she was accustomed to was replaced by bright white luminescence, and the walls were a very pale shade of yellow. The console had the same number of sides, but there wasn't the slightest trace of an organic look about it. It was all big knobs and sharp corners everywhere. Even the enormous roundels on the walls bore no resemblance to their smaller modern counterparts.

Her eyes came to rest on the open door leading to the inner realms of the TARDIS. The corridor she could see beyond was stark white. She felt a sudden overwhelming desire to find out what else was different about this earlier version.

Rose moved slowly toward the inner door, unaware that the Doctor was watching her with an amused smile on his face.

"Go on, if you want to," he told her. "Just try not to wander off too far and get lost."

She turned and grinned at him. "'Rule one: don't wander off,'" she quoted.

"And a jolly sensible rule it is, too."

* * *

She spent quite some time exploring the maze of corridors and rooms, carefully making note of where she was going and which way she'd just come from. The layout was noticeably different, but she managed to find her way easily enough. 

If her bedroom existed at all, it was just an unrecognisable generic room at that point. Rose understood how unreasonable her hope of finding it was, but the fact still didn't keep her from being slightly disappointed. It just added to the sensation of this being home, and yet not.

And then she turned a corner and felt a little thrill all the way through her. The Doctor's room. The hallway was different, but the room occupied the same location in it as she was used to.

She stepped through the open door and closed it behind her, breathing in the comforting familiarity of it. Oh, many things were different, of course, particularly the colour of the walls and the lighting, but it was still tangibly _his_. His essence and personality had left a centuries-old stamp on the place. Didn't matter how much or how little time he spent there, it was still the Doctor's place.

The furniture was the same, too. A hideously ugly Victorian gothic four-poster bed made of black walnut with utterly dreadful carvings all over it. The matching dresser and wardrobe stood nearby.

Rose didn't even try to resist the impulse to check out the latter. It contained several pairs of trousers, including a few that were knee-length, several shirts with frilly cuffs and ruffles all the way up the front, and a few velvet jackets in jewel-tone colours. A lot of stuff for just a short holiday in this time period, and there was no sign of "normal" clothes at all. She'd assumed that he was dressing to fit in with the time period he was visiting for whatever reason, much as her Doctor was doing, but she suddenly wasn't so sure.

Shaking her head, she closed the wardrobe and turned to look at the rest of the room. As always, there were assorted mysterious bits and bobs covering every flat surface, although in general this earlier Doctor seemed to be a bit tidier than her own.

She sat down on the bed and bounced up and down slightly, testing the mattress. Felt just the same as the version she was used to. She lay back for a second, then turned over and crawled up to the pillows. The smell was what got her. It didn't smell like the bed she sometimes shared with her Doctor. This version wore some sort of highly-spiced cologne or aftershave, and it was the only scent she could detect on the pillows.

Rose got up quickly and left the room.

* * *

The warm smile he gave her when she found her way back to the control room felt a bit strange after what she'd just experienced. Comforting, though. 

"Well, does it feel like home?" he asked.

"Yeah, a bit. And not at all." She was quiet for a second, then said, "Couldn't believe all the rooms that were switched around, but the kitchen's in the same exact place. 'S empty, though."

"That's right. I never use it."

"Really? We use it all the time. What d'you do for food?"

He shrugged. "Food machine."

Rose made a face. "Huh. The Doctor keeps tryin' to fix that old thing and it never works. Last time it gave us chicken marsala, and we were only goin' for popsicles."

"Popsicles?" he asked, surprised.

"Like the ones we had when we went to Disneyland in 1956."

The Doctor chuckled. "Ah. Yes, he would be the Disneyland sort, wouldn't he? Come with me, and I'll show you how it's actually supposed to work."

He led her down one of the side corridors she hadn't explored thoroughly, into a chamber that really wasn't all that far away from the console room. It was a kind of lounge, with a sofa, a few mismatched chairs arranged around a small table, and a stasis cabinet against one wall. He pointed to the cabinet and said, "No need to travel all the way to the kitchens if I can just have this in here."

While Rose watched from the couch, he fiddled with an earlier version of the TARDIS food machine, muttering under his breath whenever it didn't do what he wanted it to. After a few minutes, the Doctor turned around and offered Rose a small packet. The triumphant smile on his face was unnervingly similar to the one her Doctor had every time he conquered something like this.

"Thanks," she said. She broke the popsicle down the dividing line and offered him the other half. He inspected it suspiciously before he stuck it in his mouth.

"Wonder wha' the proper houseguests will think of our bright red tongues?" snorted Rose.

"I suggest avoiding the temptation to stick out your tongue at any of them," the Doctor said. "Difficult though that may be."

They both laughed, then fell into a companionable silence while they finished the treats. The Doctor's tall form was perched on one corner of the small table, and he regarded Rose with an indulgent sort of smile.

"You travellin' alone?" Rose asked finally.

He thought it over. "From time to time," he replied. "I quite often stay in London to help out UNIT with one or two little problems they run across. When that begins to pall I sometimes take off for a bit by myself. The Brigadier doesn't even know I've gone, usually. And I do have a young friend called Sarah Jane who agrees to accompany me from time to time."

Rose's eyes widened. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "Sarah Jane – I know her. She's nice."

"She is," he agreed. "Very intelligent."

Rose nodded in agreement. "You and her…?" she asked leadingly.

He didn't quite understand what she meant at first. Then, when he did, he was rather taken aback. "No one's likely to mistake us for husband and wife, if that's what you mean," he answered truthfully.

"Oh, we got that from the start. 'Are you two a couple?' _Ages_ before we even thought about anythin' like that." She smiled reminiscently. "The Doctor used to be just horrified by it. _Hated_ anything he called 'domestic' – 'course, he kept changin' the definition of what that meant."

The Doctor winked at her. "Ah, yes. Don't tell anyone, but that's an old trick of mine. Keeps people on their toes."

Rose laughed. "Well, you haven't changed much. Harder to lose if you keep changin' the rules of the game all the time. I remember this one time, me and the Doctor met these…"

She trailed off, looking a bit shocked.

"Something the matter, Rose?" he asked in concern.

Rose shook her head. "Just … weird, that's all. Same sorta thing I told you last night, 'cept with aliens. Never even thought about it, then. You know, trustin' a stranger."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows interestedly. "Really? I did wonder."

"You just felt … right, somehow. Just like my dad said to me. First time I met him, and he just started tellin' me all kinds of things you wouldn't tell a stranger. Gave me his car keys without thinkin' about it, then he wondered what the hell he was doing, cos he didn't know me. And that's what he said. I felt _right_. 'S what the version in a parallel world said, too. Just figured it was all sort of biology, or something. You know what I mean, Doctor?"

It was the first time since she'd come into this TARDIS that she'd called him by name at all. No wonder the girl seemed shaken. She'd obviously accepted the fact of his identity intellectually, and now she'd just proven to herself that she'd always known, somehow.

"Yes," he said gently. "Rather better than you do, I suspect. Now, look here, Rose. Take an ordinary hypothetical woman – more ordinary than you seem to be – and transport her back several years in the past. Then let her encounter her husband when he was a little boy, or a cruel, spotty teenager. And what do you think's going to happen?"

She pondered the question. "Depends. Does she know who he is? Cos if she did, she'd be too curious to keep away from him, right?"

"Probably. But here's the thing. Even if she _didn't_ know, there's still a chance she'd be drawn to him on some subconscious level. Because she'd be recognising traces of the man she knows in the boy he used to be."

"So I recognised the Doctor in you?"

"Just so."

* * *

The two of them spent quite awhile in conversation, and although he proved to be less gabby than his counterpart, he could still outtalk almost anyone else in the galaxy. Unfortunately, he was every bit as reticent when he felt he needed to be, as well. 

Rose knew better than to tell him anything about his future, not that he would have allowed such a thing, anyway, but she was disappointed to learn that when he said he'd be showing her a little of her Doctor's past, he meant precisely that. A _little._

She'd had some vague idea of maybe learning a bit more of his personal history, getting him to talk about things that _her_ Doctor might mention offhandedly, but were apparently too painful for him to discuss in depth. It seemed a grand plan, since this version of him was from well before the Time War, and was completely lacking in all the painful emotional scars of that experience.

Her first attempt was unsubtle, asking outright about the family he'd left behind, and he merely raised his eyebrows at her. "Didn't he tell you?"

Her more circumspect attempts to get information out of him met with no more success, and eventually she decided to abandon the attempt. She should leave before her Doctor got back and discovered here against his orders, anyway.

"S'pose I should go," Rose said reluctantly.

The Doctor nodded, and got to his feet to escort her out. Just inside the door of the console room he stopped suddenly and held up his hand in a gesture meaning that Rose was to do the same.

"Just a moment, _Mrs._ Tyler," he said, stepping back into the corridor. "Something I wanted to give you."

A few minutes later he returned and held out his open right hand to her. In his palm lay a plain gold ring.

"What's this?" she asked, bemused.

"You haven't got a wedding ring," he replied. "Bound to arouse a few suspicions. Use this instead."

Rose took the ring and held it between thumb and forefinger. "It's miles too big," she objected.

The Doctor waved away her objections. "No, it isn't. Just put it on, there's a good girl."

Rose placed the ring on the appropriate finger and watched with amazement as the band shrank itself down to fit perfectly. "Huh! Self-sizing ring," she laughed.

"It isn't really a wedding ring at all," the Doctor told her. "It's called a bio-damper. Renders the wearer basically undetectable when being scanned for certain elements. One of those things you need about twice in a millennia."

She couldn't stop staring at her ring finger. "Looks very convincing, though," she murmured. With a shudder, she added, "Definitely have to get rid of it before we see Mum next time. She'd go _mental_ if I showed up wearing this thing! 'S what she's afraid of, anyway, us turning up married or something."

He frowned at her. She was a particularly likeable young woman, of course, bright and personable, but the Doctor wasn't entirely without reservation. Part of him was simply wistful, and if he was completely honest with himself, more than a touch envious of his future incarnation. But another part, the free spirit resentful of all ties, domestic or otherwise, was appalled at the thought of becoming seriously involved with a human girl who could stand there and joke about her mother expecting the two of them to show up married any day.

The Doctor contrasted this with his tenth self's horrified urgency to explain that the two of them weren't _really_ married, and came to the only conclusion that made any kind of sense to him.

He reached up to scratch his ear and fidgeted uncomfortably. "Surely that isn't likely?" he asked. "Unless I've changed more than I could possibly imagine, I rather think a misapprehension and a bio-damper ring is about the closest you'll ever come to—"

Rose turned and stared at him as if he'd completely gone off his head. "I don't care," she told him firmly. "Don't need that, anyway. If he ever wants to, fine, but I can't see what difference a bit o' paper's gonna make to us."

"I see," he said slowly.

_tbc..._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Just past lunchtime, the Doctor returned from his errand. He returned the horse Valentine to the ministrations of a pair of grooms and went in search of Rose.

She was, at that moment, learning how to play croquet with Emmeline Rodgers, Lord Alemain, and one of the young men of the party. The Doctor stood on the flagstone terrace at the side of the house and watched her concentrate on the game.

The second she caught sight of him she made her excuses and left the game to join him, not without a sense of relief.

"Hey, you're playing croquet!" he greeted her. "What'd you think?"

"Just as dull as you said. And no revolutions being plotted, either."

"Well, next time, maybe. Probably, with our luck. In the meantime, brought you something if you want to change," he said, offering her a disreputable looking sort of carry-all.

"Oh, how sweet," she mocked. "You brought me wrinkled clothes."

He'd changed, also, into a variation of the same costume he'd worn earlier, only this one was done in shades of blue and grey, with the tailcoat buttoned to cover the waistcoat.

He glanced down at the left hand that rested lightly on top of the bag, and the new ring glinted in the sunlight. The Doctor took her hand and held it up to inspect the ring more closely.

"Rose," he said, in a puzzled tone, "why are you wearing a bio-damper on your hand?"

"The other you gave it to me. Pretend wedding ring, he said. Stop the gossip."

"Oh, right," he said. "So, now that you've blatantly disregarded my orders – and in this century I could probably divorce you for that, by the way – what do you think of the man I used to be?"

She gave him a cheeky smile. "Oh, I like him. Probably would have run off with him if that'd been the Doctor I met first."

"Oh, would you just?" said the Doctor. "Propose a swap, then, do you?"

Rose pretended to mull it over, just long enough to annoy him. Then she bumped against his shoulder affectionately and told him, "Reckon I'll just stick with you. After all, don't want to have to go gettin' Mum used to _another_Doctor after all this time."

He grinned at her, pleased. He stole a quick look around, then pulled her into a nearby niche and kissed her.

A surprised smile lit up Rose's face. He wasn't normally one for casual kissing, ever. Hugs were more his style of showing affection, for the most part. His kisses were impulsive things born out of a moment of relief or joyful excitement. Or they were deep and meaningful, and full of a desire for her that was so much more than sexual.

For a few minutes they stood there in one another's arms, temporarily hidden from the world and all but unaware of its existence.

* * *

The Third Doctor made a point of leaving his patient early enough to join everyone for dinner, completely oblivious to what it might do to the hostess's careful arrangements. She managed to rearrange things so she could squeeze him in next to Rose, thankful that the two of them had seemed to hit it off quite well. 

He flirted outrageously with Margaret, who was seated on his left, turning all of his considerable charm on her until she was practically incoherent. Rose kept sneaking amused glances in her direction. If it was anyone else, she would feel sorry for the girl, but she just couldn't _quite_ manage.

From time to time, when Margaret became so flustered from his attentions she could barely hold a spoon in her hand, he turned and talked to Rose. He was every inch the respectful gentleman, but he did smile and wink at her quite a bit.

Rose's Doctor, four spaces down on the opposite side of the table, sat and watched the demonstration with a sour expression he was _positive_ had nothing to do with jealousy.

"You're annoying yourself, you know," she told her dinner companion in a low voice.

He glanced up at his older self. With a self-satisfied smirk he leaned closer to Rose and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure I'll get over it," he whispered in her ear.

"Not sure _I_ will," she whispered back. "Two of ya to deal with."

* * *

Rose had seen this kind of dancing before, on television, but that had been her only exposure to it. She gamely lined up with the rest of the ladies, with the Doctor – her own, this time – across from her, and hoped for the best. She looked down often, trying to see and copy the steps that everyone else was doing. 

At first this occupied all her attention, but she got the hang of it quickly enough. The third time she danced out in the centre to meet her partner, she leaned in toward him and asked, "How'm I doing?"

"Brilliantly!" he replied, brown eyes sparkling with unmistakeable pride.

After that, she relaxed and started to enjoy herself. Granted, the Doctor might be a touch prejudiced, but if he thought she was doing well, that was good enough for her.

The second set found her partnered with Gerald something or other, Lady Penelope's fiancé, who was bland and blond and hopelessly clumsy. They managed somehow to keep their feet from colliding painfully, but he did bump into her shoulder at least three times.

He followed her to her chair when the company took a short break, and gazed at her with puppy-dog eyes. She looked rather attractive in her flushed state, more colourful and alive than most of the other women present. Emmeline had put up her hair for her, and she was elegantly dressed in a purple velvet pelisse over a purple satin gown.

"You look quite charming tonight, Mrs. Tyler," Gerald complimented her warmly.

"Thanks," Rose said, smiling sweetly.

He was one of the terminally embarrassed types who was never very far away from blushing, and that tipped him right over. "Yes. Well. I was w-wondering if you would do me the honour of giving me the next dance as well?"

Rose tried desperately to think of an excuse to say no. She wasn't sure she could pull off the, "But I'm a married woman!" line with a straight face, nor was she at all sure of the etiquette involved regarding dance partners.

"Wouldn't you rather dance with your fiancée?" she said finally. "Don't want her to get jealous, after all."

He glanced over at Lady Penelope, fanning herself gracefully as she talked with her friends, and then looked back at Rose. "Oh, no. Penny doesn't care to dance with me that often. She says if we're too much together before we are married, we shall tire of one another's company that much more quickly afterwards. Do you find that to be true, Mrs. Tyler?"

"Not really. Nobody's company I like better than the Doctor's," she answered without hesitation.

She looked around for him, hoping he'd come to her rescue, but he was busy talking the ears off Wentworth and one or two of the other men. He'd turned one of the dining chairs around backwards and was straddling it. As he spoke, his hand gestures became more and more excited. Absolutely in his element, he was. Rose couldn't help smiling as she watched him.

"Oh," Gerald said. "Well, but you still haven't given me an answer about the next dance," he persisted.

"I rather think the next dance is the one Mrs. Tyler promised to me," a deep voice interrupted smoothly. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

Rose looked up at the Third Doctor gratefully. "Yeah. Think so."

The music started again before long, and he led her out to the middle of the floor. It took no time to discover that with him as a partner she had no need to fear for her feet or her shoulders or anything else. His dancing skills were absolutely impeccable – a lot more so than _her_ Doctor's were, she noticed.

The Tenth Doctor, who hadn't quite been able to give up his conversation about the political situation with the Americans, looked up just in time to see them cross out together and smile at one another.

His words trailed off. For a moment he just sat and watched them, feeling a surge of annoyance with both Rose and his younger self. He should be flattered that she liked every version of him she came across, but it would be easier if she didn't like him _quite_ so much. And as for _him …_ had he really been that arrogant and juvenile back in his comparative youth?

As he went back to his conversation, he made sure to keep part of his attention on the dancing. He fully intended to have the next dance, and show Rose which Doctor she _should_ be dancing with.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:**_ This chapter contains sexual situations. Consider yourself warned._

* * *

It was getting light the next morning by the time he came to bed, but the heavy damask draperies in the bedroom blocked the majority of the light, making the room seem a collection of grey shadows. He lit the lamp and set it back on the bedside table.

Rose sprawled across the middle of the bed, dead to the world. He gazed down at the sleeping girl affectionately and reached out to stroke the hand which was closest to him.

Something woke her, either the touch or just the sense of his presence in the room. She stretched and opened her eyes just as he came out from behind the dressing screen by the bed. She blinked once, sat up in surprise, then burst out laughing.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

The Doctor looked down at his borrowed night-shirt, hurt. It was a bit big for his thin form, and short enough that it didn't completely cover his knees, but he saw nothing wrong with it. "Same thing I wore last night. You were asleep and didn't see it."

"Good for me," she giggled. "Not exactly sexy, is it?"

He made her shove over and sat down on the bed beside her, shoving a pillow behind his back and hugging his knees. He cut his eyes over at her and looked positively devilish for a second.

"Oh, don't tell me you're turning into one of those typical humans who defines sexiness based on clothing choices," he teased.

Rose laughed. "Yeah, like I'd really be with you if I did!" she said, and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

She thought about the various old outfits of his she'd seen over the past couple of days, and felt a fresh outburst of giggles come over her. She clutched at his sleeve and hid her face against his arm as she laughed.

"Nothing," she gasped. When she got herself under control she sat up and wiped her eyes. "Where you been all night, anyway?"

"Talking to myself. Essentially. Well, literally, in a way. Depends on how you look at it. Took him back to show him the TARDIS."

A worried look crossed her face. "Been thinkin' about that," she said carefully. "I mean, you said there's not supposed to be two versions of you here, and I remember what happened back in 1987, so innit a bit dangerous to do that?"

The Doctor leaned his head back and blew out his breath. "Could be," he admitted. "The Blinovitch Limitation Effect doesn't have quite the same effect on Time Lords as it does on humans, but yeah, theoretically it could cause a bit of a problem. Temporal instability on a catastrophic scale, stuff like that. The Time Lords had a big, fat law against crossing your own timestream except in the gravest of emergencies. They had big, fat laws against everything, but especially that."

"Which you broke, of course."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, I didn't," he replied earnestly. "Not that one. Not deliberately. _They_ did, a few times. Brought several of me together under that grave emergency clause. And it happened by accident once or twice, just like now, and I got the hell out of there as quickly as I could."

"Didn't this time," Rose pointed out. "And wouldn't it be worse, without the Time Lords around? Bring Reapers and all that, maybe?"

"Oh, I monitored things," he said, a bit too quickly. "Back in the TARDIS. Kept checking. Nothing but a few tiny little ripples."

She shrugged, but she was still more than a bit doubtful. "Well, guess you know what you're doin', then."

"'Course I do!"

It would have been more accurate to say he _hoped_ he knew what he was doing. His earlier self had certainly had reservations about the whole idea, although of course his curiosity had got the better of him.

The Tenth Doctor himself couldn't really explain his sudden compulsion to spend time with the Third, in spite of the risks that were quite real and quite serious, no matter how much he chose to downplay them for Rose.

He'd always hated running across one of his other selves, no matter what the cause. It was always difficult to explain to whoever he was travelling with, or, as in the case of his spontaneous decision to revisit the 1948 Olympics, difficult to keep said travelling companion away from her first Doctor, who hadn't yet met her.

The worst part, though, was the effect it had on him. It was always irritating to be forcibly reminded of certain past habits and mannerisms that had been long since left behind and mercifully forgotten in the haze of several regenerations. He didn't really _want_ to remember that he'd once worn celery pinned to his lapel, or played the spoons. Or that he'd been well-mannered and gentlemanly and confident and revoltingly charming, for that matter. He preferred the sort of charm he had now, thanks very much.

Ordinarily, he'd never have even been tempted, but since the war.… Well, everything was different now. He hadn't realised until he'd blundered into himself that his need to see another Time Lord was so intense that he'd willingly take such a risk just for a few hours of his own company.

"Did he like it?" Rose asked, shattering his train of thought.

The Doctor struggled back from his inner thoughts. "What?"

"The TARDIS. Did he like what you'd done with it? Bit different from his."

He pointed an accusatory finger in her face. "Ah ha ha! I knew he'd take you there first thing. Just couldn't resist the opportunity, could you? And no, he didn't much appreciate the changes. Not exactly the greatest taste, that version of me."

"Not exactly the sort to wear suits and trainers, I don't think," she said.

"Nope. Back then I was strictly frills and velvet and Hai Karate. The bane of the 1970s, that stuff. You should thank your lucky stars you weren't born then. Bet your dad wore it when he was a young man. Seems the type, good old Pete.

"He couldn't seem to get over the console, for some reason," he said, changing the subject in that lightning quick way of his that Rose still sometimes had trouble following. He pitched his voice to an uncannily accurate impression of his earlier self, and quoted, "'What the devil do you need a bicycle pump attached to the console for? Oh, I see.'"

Rose laughed. "Bet he was under the floor grates investigatin' things in five minutes."

"Six and a half." The Doctor lay back and rested his head in his cupped hands, smiling reminiscently. "He was impressed, don't care what he says."

Then without warning he sobered. "Kept talking about the Time Lords. Said if they were so all-fired serious about keeping the purity of the timestream, you'd think they could do something to keep this sort of thing from happening all the time."

Rose touched his arm sympathetically. "And you couldn't tell him they don't exist anymore."

He looked at her seriously, and replied, "Well, in his timeline they _do_ still exist. Well, sort of. Well, they do and they don't. It's … complicated."

"Like string theory?" she suggested brightly.

She was trying to be clever, but the Doctor merely laughed at her. "String theory?" he hooted. "Good lord, on my planet string theory's what we used to tell toddlers to make them laugh!"

"Right. Knew that." She decided to bring up the question that had been bugging her since she'd first found out "Dr. Smith's" real identity. "Okay, so how come you didn't remember having been here before? You had no idea you were already here, did ya?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Oh, that's easy enough," he explained. "Hadn't happened yet. Well, it had, of course, but at the same time it _hadn't_, if you know what I mean."

"Haven't the foggiest."

He sighed, the way he generally did when he was feeling plagued by the microscopic capacity of the human brain. "Time isn't linear, you know, Rose. Keep telling you that. Plus there's all kinds of little memory tricks I can use. Keep myself from ever knowing _too_ much about my own future."

Rose bit her lip in concentration, trying to wrap her head around all the information. "So, you might have already met a future you, and you jus' don't remember it?" she surmised.

"Yeah! Isn't it _grand?"_

She sat up on her knees, facing him. "So the first time you met me," she said slowly, "you'd already met me, but you didn't know it yet. Because you hadn't met me yet, only…"

"Only I had. Got it in one! Very _good,_ Rose."

* * *

"You know what I regret?" said Rose a little later. She leaned over the Doctor as she traced her fingernails up and down his midsection, scratching him through the cotton of the night-shirt. 

"Hmm?" He caressed her arm lazily.

"That we never got round to sleepin' together before you regenerated. I'd have loved to find out what that body was like."

He laughed, while she kissed the side of his mouth.

"Wasn't bad," he said absently. He reached behind her head and pulled it closer, capturing her top lip between his, then letting it go quickly with just a tease of the tip of his tongue. "Sensations are a bit different, though. Always are between bodies."

"So you wanted to as well."

"Might say that, yeah."

"Still could," she reminded him playfully.

The Doctor stopped kissing her and gave her a hard stare. "How d'you figure that one?"

"Well, 'f you can meet yourself by accident with nothing but a few little ripples in time, you could sort of take me back to meet him. Say, one of those times you went off someplace when you left me at Mum's."

"You think I'd just automatically sleep with an older Rose?"

"You don't think I could seduce him? Not like I don't know what you like. Unless it's changed a lot."

"Don't think that much has changed," he answered seriously, then frowned at her. "Don't be ridiculous. I'd never just stand back and let you seduce me."

Rose gave him a wicked grin. "Or you could stick around. We could have a threesome…."

"Rose!" he gasped, laughing. "That is … that's a bit kinky, that's what that is. That is seriously … no, not really seriously kinky, because that stuff's _really_ …ooh, and a bit painful, some of it, I'd guess. Still, this is a good medium-sized kink, surely. Time travel to … Oh, Rose Tyler, that idea's so utterly mad it's almost tempting!"

"Well, can we try it, then?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"Turns you on, though," she smirked, reaching down to find him already hard against her hand.

"Mm mmm. That's just you."

"Is it?" she whispered. He nodded, then moaned as she encircled him with her fingers.

She shoved the silly night-shirt over his hips and straddled him. She moved her hips downwards, and gasped slightly as he slid into her. "Oh, Doctor…"

He held her hands out away from their bodies, palm to palm, fingers tightly intertwined. It was enough to support her weight, keep her upright as she moved against him. He barely moved inside her, but Rose felt every tiny motion all the way through her body.

The two of them stared into one another's faces, scarcely breaking eye contact. There was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing to break the silence, followed by a low moan that might have come from either or both of them as Rose lost patience with this and began to move up and down on him in earnest.

Neither of them heard the bedroom door open, but the shocked, "Mother of God!" followed by the clang of a coal bucket hitting the floor certainly wrenched them out of their reverie.

Two heads jerked around to behold a startled chambermaid, staring at them with an utterly appalled look on her face. Even in the dim light her blush was obvious. With a hastily stammered apology, the poor girl turned and fled, forgetting her pail and barely managing to close the door behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Shit!" said Rose, scrambling off of the Doctor and pulling the covers over them both. "Shit."

"No point swearing over it," he said irritably.

"_Sorry,"_ she shot back, but she wasn't. She'd tried, with a good deal of success, to moderate her "estate language" since she'd met the Doctor. He'd never said anything, but his distaste for more than a few mild oaths had quickly made an impression on her. Excessive cursing was one of those particularly tiresome _human_ things, apparently.

He gave her a tight-lipped, impatient sort of look. "Think we can survive a bit of embarrassment without going to pieces, don't you? Have a little perspective, Rose."

"You should talk," Rose snapped. "Won't even kiss me in public, but y'don't mind shaggin' me in front of a maid."

The Doctor sighed in annoyance at the way she seemed to be deliberately missing the point. His tone became slightly condescending as he said, "Don't overreact. That's all. Think how much worse it is for that poor girl. Just comes in to do the fire, same as every morning of her life, and there we are, having it off in front of her."

He climbed out of bed and searched for his dressing gown. Finally locating it behind the screen, he slipped it on and headed for the door.

"Now what?" Rose frowned.

The Doctor stopped and looked back at her, exasperated at her slowness. "The fire's nearly out, she's lost her coal bucket; we're keeping her from doing her job, that's what. I'm going to try and find her."

"Can't we just light the fire ourselves?" Rose wondered, and then realised the problem even as she spoke. "No. Wait, she'd probably get sacked or something, right?"

"Right." With sudden vehemence he stabbed his finger in her direction. "And don't you start about the unfairness of it all. This is the nineteenth century, and you can't change the customs to suit."

"Didn't say anythin' about trying to, did I?" Rose muttered as he left.

* * *

The chambermaid was pacing back and forth at the end of the corridor, embarrassed at what she'd walked in on, and more than a little afraid the whole situation would end with her dismissal. She'd gone and forgotten her coal bucket in the Tylers' bedroom. She couldn't possibly risk going back in to get it, but without it she couldn't finish lighting the bedroom fires. Her only options were to knock at the door and hope they would understand and not be angry with her, or go downstairs and confess to the cook what had happened, and risk bringing the wrath of the senior staff down on her head. Neither one held great appeal.

The girl started violently as someone touched her on the shoulder, and she turned to see the Doctor smiling at her benevolently. She looked at him with a tragic expression, part fear of reprimand, part cringing embarrassment.

"Hey," he said. "Katie, right? Sorry about … well, just now. There's nothing to be upset about, Katie. We're not angry with you. No need to be afraid of me. Just the guy you were talkin' about horses with twenty-four hours ago. Harmless. Really. Well, mostly. Look, you just go back in there and finish what you came in to do, don't pay us any notice. I'll even stand out here in the corridor till you're done, won't even say a dicky bird. That's quite an effort for me, by the way, just so you know."

While he talked, he had somehow maneuvered her – without ever laying a finger on her – down the hall and to the open door of the bedroom. She hesitated, eyeing him mistrustfully.

He held his hands in the air in a universal protest of innocence. "Look, here's me, standing here, not coming in. And there's Rose, inside, not the least bit angry with you. Right, Rose?"

* * *

There was a nicely blazing fire going when he got back in the room. Rose was sitting up in bed in the same attitude as earlier, looking glum.

"I apologised."

The Doctor sat next to her, smiling. "Good. That's good. Me, too."

"It embarrassed her."

"Ah. Yeah. There is that."

He reached out to caress her knee, underneath the bedclothes, but Rose remained distant. She didn't move his hand, but it was clear she wasn't in the mood anymore.

"Rose? You all right?"

"Yeah. Jus' … bit of a mood-killer, that's all."

He laughed slightly. "Mmm. Nothing like a little coitus interruptus to interrupt the mood for more … never mind. What shall we do in that case?"

"Oh, I don't mind." She looked at him and smiled reluctantly, moving closer and positioning herself underneath his arm. He brought his other arm around her and pulled her close.

"Believe it or not, I've never had that happen to me before," he said ruefully. "Not even almost."

"S'pose this is one of those things we'll laugh at in a few years, yeah?"

The Doctor felt a cold chill go through him at her words. A few years. She took so much for granted, his Rose. "Oh, yeah," he agreed, his voice deliberately neutral.

As much to soothe his own nerves as hers, he lay down, pulling her with him. He held Rose until she fell back to sleep, and although he tried to get a bit of rest himself, sleep stubbornly refused to come. At length, he disentangled himself from his companion and got up, placing a gentle kiss on her head as he left her.

He crossed the room and stood looking into the fire that was the inadvertent cause of the trouble. Something, some feeling, pricked at his consciousness, and would neither let itself be brought to the forefront nor pushed completely to the back of his mind. Phrases rang through his head, taking on a new and darker significance.

_S'pose this is one of those things we'll laugh about in a few years, yeah?_

_They keep on tryin' to split us up, but they never, ever will._

_You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can't spend the rest of mine with you._

_I don't care how you define 'forever', Doctor! Cos that's how long I'm stayin' with you, and you might as well get used to it._

Time was running out. That's what it was. That feeling of a storm approaching. Rose, as ever, remained blissfully unaware of the danger, and the Doctor almost envied her her innocence.

* * *

At some point over the centuries, he'd changed the locks, probably several times. Either way, the present TARDIS key simply didn't seem to fit the earlier door.

"Come on, old girl," he urged, jiggling the lock. "It's still me."

The Doctor caressed the wooden panels soothingly. "I just need to come inside, just for a little while." He leaned his forehead against the door, then tried the key again. It worked this time.

"Thanks, old friend. Knew you'd know me anywhere."

He tried not to be overcome with a sense of nostalgia as he stepped into the old control room. One hand caressed the console, with its simpler control knobs. He was in the act of reaching for the scanner control when his younger self came into the control room, carrying a box of spare parts, and caught him in the act.

"What now?" he demanded testily.

The Tenth Doctor pulled his hand away guiltily. "Nothing. Just … returning the visit. 'S only polite."

"So is knocking before entering."

"I had a key," he pointed out, holding it up. He felt no need to bring up the fact that he'd still had to coerce his way in, even with said key.

The Third Doctor placed the box on the console and stood watching his counterpart, arms folded across his chest in an unmistakeable gesture of impatience.

The older Doctor noticed, but paid no attention. He looked around the console room interestedly, putting on his glasses to peer at bits and pieces, a reminiscent smile on his face.

"One of the more interesting colour schemes," he said conversationally. "Whatever possessed me to have the walls the exact shade of dilute urine, I wonder?"

"Possibly the same impulse that led me to turn the console into a glowing mushroom," the Third snapped.

"Oh, please, not that again. Thought we'd been through all that last night."

"What do you want?" The tone held more than a touch of suspicion.

The Tenth Doctor avoided looking at him, and continued to inspect the minutiae of the console. He idly flipped a couple of switches, only the have his hands batted away by his younger self, who set them back the way they were.

"D'you remember this…" The Tenth Doctor still didn't look at himself, and his hands moved in vague flip-flop motions. "…Um, list, thing? Mental list. Well, of course you'd remember it, it's recent for you. I know, when I was still you, that I made some sort of list in my head. All the things I wished I'd done with Jo. Or said to her. All those things that might have made her stay. Only I don't remember any of them at this point."

The Third Doctor's face became hard as granite. Without answering, he turned and began to rummage through the box.

His other self fairly radiated impatience, but he knew better than to push him. Scars that for _him_ had mostly healed long ago were bitterly fresh for the younger Doctor. A year, two at the outside, since he'd lost someone terribly important to him.

At length, the Third Doctor spoke, in a tone that was a little too casual and a little too eager to change the subject.

"Rose reminds me a bit of Jo, in some ways. I've already had reason to note how headstrong she is, just in the little time I've spent with her. And she's rather ridiculously loyal to you. Impulsive, as well, I suspect."

"That's a word for it," the Tenth Doctor snorted.

"Just like Jo."

"Nah," he answered quickly, without bothering to consider the question at all. At that point in his life, he knew, _anything_ potentially had the power to remind him of Jo. "Rose doesn't remind me of anyone – she's just _Rose._

"Still," he went on thoughtfully, "in a way, she reminds me of everyone. It's like … if you could condense all the best of humanity into one single human being, then add in a few of their rough bits, just for spice. That's what Rose reminds me of."

Something in his voice, the mixture of wonder and pride and sheer awe, told the Third Doctor everything. He'd half suspected, of course, but a part of him still clung to the possibility that the girl's affections were not entirely reciprocated. He shook his head.

"Bless my soul, I never learn, do I?"

"Wha…? Oh. Well." The older version ruffled his dark hair in embarrassment, then he beamed at him. "No, don't suppose you do. Isn't that funny?"

"Not particularly." The Third Doctor got straight to the point. "Are you actually asking me for romantic advice concerning the woman you're pretending to be married to?"

"'Course not. Not as such. Not exactly _advice_."

"Good heavens, man, you must be centuries older than I am. Surely you'll have learned something in all that time. Or have you just forgotten it all?"

"I've learned that you stand in the way of developing one _hell_ of a fetish for blondes," the other Doctor laughed. "Particularly the headstrong ones. 'Specially if they're loyal and impulsive and clever, as well. And blonde."

The younger Doctor cleared his throat. "Yes. Well, that's as may be, but I hardly think there's any need for me to—"

"I'm about to lose her," the Tenth Doctor interjected quickly, his voice deep and husky, as if he could barely force the words out of his throat without choking. "Soon. I can feel it – sense it. It's like the universe is biding its time, just waiting to rip her away from me. I don't want to regret…"

He couldn't continue, and his other self couldn't bear to look at him. He turned back to the console, idly flicking switches, running tests, in order to give the man time to compose himself.

For several minutes there was dead silence between the two of them, almost but not quite embarrassed. Strangely, there was surprisingly little tension. Just an unspoken bond of sympathy between a man who'd lost the woman he loved, and a man who might be about to. Whatever the intensity or the relative importance of those relationships in the long run, it didn't matter.

"If it's any comfort," the Third Doctor said awkwardly, "I hardly think Rose is likely to impulsively leave you for another man."

_"No._ She won't do that. I wish to God she would, sometimes. At least that way she'd be safe. But she wants _forever,_ at least as far as she understands it. And I don't think we're gonna get it."

He sounded, and looked, so maudlin that his other self was immediately irritated.

"Then for goodness' sake," he snapped, "either wrap her up in cotton wool and send her off someplace out of harm's way, or make a try for it. Your decision. Either way, don't just hold her hand and gaze at her like a lovesick swain."

That wrenched the older Doctor out of his self-pity in an instant. _"Swain?"_ he repeated, pulling a face. "I've never said swain in my life!"

"You just did. Would you prefer idiot? Because that might work as well. Your problem, as I see it—"

"You don't see it at all."

"The problem, as I see it," the Third Doctor continued, raising his voice over the other's objections, "is that half the time you treat her as if she's your wife, and the rest of the time as if she's a child in your care. Oh, don't look at me like that. I know what I'm talking about. The girl gives away far more than she intends to, every time she opens her mouth. It doesn't take much to interpret, particularly for someone who knows you."

"And you're likely to know me so very well after seven regenerations," the Tenth Doctor replied sardonically.

His younger self sighed irritably, and said, in the manner of someone explaining the very obvious to a particularly dull child, "There are only so many variables in an ill-advised relationship between a Time Lord and an immature human female. I'm merely trying to—"

_"Really?"_ the Tenth Doctor interrupted rudely. "Wouldn't have guessed, thanks."

The Third Doctor ignored him. "Still thinking as a Time Lord, though, aren't you? We accuse the humans of viewing everything through the perception of their own culture, and yet we consistently do the very same thing, don't we? Expect them to understand what we're thinking, and get annoyed when they don't. Precisely where you're going wrong with Rose, I expect."

"Never said I was going wrong with Rose," was the sulky reply.

"No. You said you didn't want to regret what you'd done, or didn't do. I'm merely giving you the benefit of my experience—"

"I only _look_ younger than you, you know."

"You act it, as well. For Rassilon's sake, man, if you feel compelled to make a running commentary on every single point, couldn't you at least do it silently?"

The Tenth Doctor thought it over. "Ooh. Consider it, if you'd actually make a point."

"If you'll stop blathering, I will."

"Oh, I hardly ever stop blathering, anybody could tell you that. Might have only graduated with 51 overall, but I came first in blathering. Talked …" He stopped abruptly, changing his mind in mid-sentence. "All right," he agreed.

The other gave a nod of satisfaction. It was all he could do to keep an amused smile off his face, but he knew indulging him would undo what little progress he'd managed. "Good. Now, humans have different expectations of what this sort of … entanglement … means. For instance, I don't suppose you've actually bothered telling Rose how you feel about her? No? I rather thought not. You blithely assume she understands—"

"She does, though." His voice was quiet, but very firm.

That was a possibility the Third Doctor hadn't seriously considered. As he thought it over, though, he realised it made more sense than otherwise. Certainly it explained some of Rose's attitudes, such as her dismissal of marriage as completely irrelevant.

"All right, most likely she does, at that," he admitted. "She might like to have you confirm it on occasion, though. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."

There was no verbal response, oddly enough, just the sombre expression in a pair of brown eyes that for a moment looked every bit their true age.

"She might like the occasional romantic gesture, as well. Have you ever thought of that?"

"Um, yeah. Make romantic gestures all the time. We went to Florana, swam in the fizzy water. Oh, and this place – what d'you call it? – not a resort, exactly. More sort of a—"

The Third Doctor interrupted his older self, for a change. "No, no, no. I'm not talking about taking her sightseeing, and showing her the same places you'd show anybody else who happened to want to come along for the ride. That's the sort of thing you can do every day. I'm talking about doing something specifically _for_ her."

"Well, what about Woman Wept, then? Rose liked that, talked about it for ages. Out under the frozen waves, what could be more romantic than that? Should think about going back there sometime."

The younger Doctor lost all patience with him. "Have you forgotten how to _court_ a woman, you arrogant puppy?"

"Court…?" the Tenth Doctor said, as if he'd never heard the word before. With deliberate irony, he mused, "Lessee, oh, yeah. That's that thing where you very, very slowly keep making very, very subtle romantic gestures till the girl gets bored and runs off with someone who reminds her vaguely of you. Yeah. Wonder why I gave _that_ up?"

He'd gone one step too far with that one, and he realised it the instant the words were out of his mouth, even before the other Time Lord grabbed hold of the shoulder of his jacket and began to propel him towards the door of the TARDIS.

"Give her chocolates, pick flowers for her, take her out for an intimate candlelight dinner for two, tell her she's the loveliest woman you've ever seen," the Third Doctor recited impatiently, giving the older man a shove that wasn't hard, but definitely meant business. "You're still me, so you can't possibly be as much of an idiot as you seem. Use your brilliance and figure it out for yourself!"

As the door closed behind him, the Tenth Doctor stood upright and straightened his rumpled tailcoat. "Well," he said to himself, "not often I throw myself out of my own TARDIS, I must admit."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**Author's Note!**_Due to draconian rules regarding adult material, I've had to censor one scene in this chapter fairly heavily to keep in line (just!) with its 'M' rating. If you'd rather read the uncensored version, with the explicit sex, please __**check my profile**__ for the link._

In the afternoon it turned cold and started to rain, driving the entire party and their various pursuits indoors.

Rose sat with Mrs. Wentworth and Lady Penelope, giving the neglected needlework another try. She was improving, but her stitches were still large and crooked. At least she was getting to the point where she no longer pricked herself constantly with the needle.

She looked on at the expert work Rosemary Wentworth was producing and shook her head. Not only were the stitches minuscule and neat, but she was working with white thread on a background of white linen.

"Dunno how you do that," Rose said honestly.

Mrs. Wentworth smiled. "Practice, my dear," she said. "You shall learn. How is your injured hand?"

Rose showed it to her, still faintly green from the mysterious ointment, but definitely on the mend. "'S okay."

"An advantage to being married to a doctor, I suppose," Lady Penelope remarked, without taking her eyes off her own work.

The Doctor – at least Rose's version of him – hadn't been seen since shortly after breakfast. Arthur Wentworth, asking and answering his own question, had assumed he'd gone off to work on his so-called carriage, and no one, including Rose, had questioned it. He'd show up in his own good time.

Meanwhile, the other Doctor was present, discussing the political situation in France with some of the gentlemen of the party. Apparently, the discussion was only forbidden during dinner or something. Rose listened vaguely; thanks to all her time with the Doctor, she'd picked up the habit of trying to learn as much as she could. No telling when it would come in handy.

He spoke familiarly of Napoleon, having met him several times, and his opinion of the situation was clearly held in high regard. When he was asked to speculate on how long the war would last, he smiled faintly and replied, "Oh, I daresay old Boney will meet his Waterloo in another year or two."

Rose looked up when she heard that, catching the Doctor's eye. He winked at her, and she had to hold her embroidery in front of her face to hide her laughter. She couldn't remember ever having been taught anything about the Napoleonic Wars in school, and she'd never known the date of the Battle of Waterloo, but she was quite certain now that it would take place within the next couple of years.

The ladies, still focussed on their handiwork, paid no attention to the conversation. Mrs. Wentworth finished the area she'd been working on, and held up her work to examine it critically. Rose reached over to finger the tiny garment.

"So little," she marvelled. "Can't believe a human being'll fit into that, can you?"

Her hostess laughed happily. "It is hard to believe," she agreed. "But they do, at least for a short time. You will find out for yourself one day soon, if you're fortunate."

Rose, caught completely off guard, choked slightly. "Umm," she said, not knowing how else to respond.

The Third Doctor watched her carefully, curious about what her reaction would be. This was precisely the reason he couldn't _really_ complain about Jo's leaving, no matter how much it hurt. Jo – and Rose, for that matter – deserved a chance for a normal life. It was what he'd always wanted for them, all these humans he'd got so attached to. Despite the out-and-out hunger his older self had displayed earlier, the Doctor was certain his feelings on the matter hadn't changed significantly. If Rose stayed with him, if she got the "forever" she was asking for, it would be at the price of never having a proper life for herself.

"Don't think kids are really a big, um, priority, for us," Rose managed finally.

Mrs. Wentworth gazed at her with a smile that was slightly condescending. "Things change," she said. "And I suspect Dr. Tyler would make a wonderful father."

Rose snorted. "Probably – jus' a big kid, himself."

"Well, perhaps he will grow up a bit once he has a child of his own."

"Don't think so," Rose answered thoughtfully. "Had a kid when he was younger, but she died. Her and her mum."

"How tragic!" exclaimed Rosemary.

The Third Doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise. So he'd told her, had he? How very odd.

Rose nodded. "Yeah. Long time ago, I think." She looked over at the Third Doctor for confirmation and he nodded slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Perhaps he was more mature then," he suggested. "You make him feel young again."

"Think I do, yeah," she agreed, holding his gaze.

Julia Forsythe, gliding into the room in her characteristically silent manner, came to stand behind the sofa where her sister and Rose were seated. "Mrs. Tyler," she interrupted, "I have a message from your husband. He requires your presence upstairs immediately."

Rose's eyebrows went up almost into her hairline. "Oh, _really? _S'pose I better go and see what my lord and master wants, then," she said, although the Doctor was the only one who realised she was kidding.

* * *

"Hey, look at me, playin' dutiful little wife," Rose joked as she entered the bedroom. The Doctor perched on the side of one of the armchairs near the fireplace, and she placed herself in front of him and dropped a rough approximation of a curtsey. "You _summoned?"_

"Husband's prerogative, and all that," grinned the Doctor. "Even fake husbands have prerogatives."

The room seemed quite dark after the cheery lamplight of the parlour. The heavy draperies were already drawn, and the only illumination in the room was the fire in the hearth. As Rose's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she could make out shapes on the little table by the fireside. Plates, and covered dishes. A second, smaller table that held a large tray sat nearby, filled with more of the covered objects.

"What's this?" she wondered.

"Just … thought you might like it," answered the Doctor. There was a strange, almost nervous undertone to his voice, as if he wasn't quite sure of this whole thing, or the reception it was going to get.

He stood up and retrieved the sonic screwdriver from a hidden pocket inside his jacket. Aiming it at the tip of one of the slender tapers arranged on the table, he flicked the switch and the candle caught alight. He repeated the action on the other.

"Voila," he announced. "Candlelight supper for two. Had it brought up as a surprise."

"I'm surprised," agreed Rose. Actually, gobsmacked might be nearer the mark. He'd never been one for traditional romantic gestures. He might well take it into his head to walk hand in hand on a deserted beach at sunset, all right, but the beach tended to be freezing, or inhabited by talking frog creatures begging for money, or they had to be careful not to venture too close to the acid sea that lapped the shore.

And a "candlelight supper" with the Doctor was more likely to mean hiding out in an empty house, eating whatever they'd managed to get their hands on, instead of sitting beside a cozy fire in a manor house, with servants waiting to bring the next course if needed.

Then he did something else astonishing. He pulled out one of the chairs and stood waiting expectantly. Rose sat down, wonderingly, and he pushed it back in for her and sat down across from her.

"Make a gentleman out o' you, yet, Doctor," she teased. "You should meet your third self more often; his manners are rubbing off on you."

He said seriously, "I just thought it might be nice to make it up to you – well, to both of us, really – for this morning."

Rose, knowing nothing about his lapse into paranoia that morning, or his visit to his former self, was amazed at the uncharacteristic gesture. But it was the expression on his face that rendered her absolutely speechless.

The earlier Doctor liked her, she had no doubt about that. Just in the limited amount of time they'd spent together, they'd become good friends. She was starting to suspect that any version of him she might run across would end up liking her, and vice versa. The feeling pleased her very much. The Ninth Doctor, the one she'd first known, had loved her. She'd never realised how much, or in what way, until it was far too late.

But neither of them – none of them – would ever look at her the way _this_ one was looking at her. The candlelight made his dark eyes sparkle even more than usual, but it didn't disguise the intensity of his expression. He was gazing at her as if she was the single most important thing in his life, as if he could never get enough of the sight of her.

This Doctor, for all his tongue-tied ineptitude with the actual words, _loved _her. He proved it to her with his actions, over and over, and here he was proving it again.

Rose had to bite her lip to keep from crying, she was so moved. She understood that this sort of thing was hard for him, because in a way this simple dinner was almost tantamount to a declaration.

And because she loved him just as much, she made it easy for him. She deliberately changed the subject, going back to something mundane, something that would allow him to slip back into his usual mode of invulnerability.

"What're we having?" she asked, in a voice that wasn't quite steady.

He cleared his throat, and pulled the domed cover off with a flourish, revealing two tiny bird carcasses on a plate.

"Partridges, I think," he answered. His voice held no sign that he'd been choked up just a few seconds earlier. "Though, they were out of the optional pear tree, sadly."

"Only have those at Christmas, I think," Rose answered, and they both laughed.

* * *

The meal was quite light compared to the dinner they would have had downstairs, and they revelled in their freedom from table manners, cheerfully consuming each dish in whatever order and with whatever utensil they liked.

After they finished, they piled all the dishes onto the heavy tray, and the Doctor picked it up and carried it out into the corridor, Rose following with the little table. They piled the things outside their door for some passing servant to deal with, then stepped back into their bedroom and closed the door. The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the latch and they exchanged a satisfied smile as they heard the lock click into place.

He took Rose's hand and led her back to the armchairs in front of the fire. They both sat, or rather sprawled, in the large chairs, utterly relaxed. Rose heaved a sigh of relief to have escaped the communal dinner hour, and particularly the after-dinner social gathering with the so-called ladies.

The Doctor was quite pleased with himself that his little plan for a romantic dinner for two had gone over so well. He reached under his chair and pulled out a plastic bag full of grapes, a sweet green German variety that he was particularly fond of.

"Dessert?" he offered.

Rose laughed at the incongruity of the packaging. "Where'd you get those?"

"Tesco," he said simply. "Too early for 'em here. Only April, I think. Maybe not." He detached a bunch from the rest and stretched one long arm across to pass them to Rose.

For a few minutes they munched on the grapes, till Rose decided it would be more fun to throw one at the Doctor. It was a lucky shot, bouncing off his nose and landing in his lap. He grinned and tossed it right back at her. It caught in her hair, and by the time she'd managed to free it, three more of the things had landed on her.

She stood up, letting the stray missiles drop to the floor. She advanced on him menacingly, brandishing the grape she'd untangled from her hair. The Doctor held up his hands in mock surrender, but she shoved them aside and stuck the grape in his mouth.

"There. Didn't your mum ever tell you not to play with your food?"

He thought it over. "Probably," he said with his mouth full. "But I didn't listen to her. And besides, you started it!"

With that, he pulled Rose into his lap and she fell against him with a yelp. "All right," she said softly. "Got a point."

She moved to kiss him, but he forestalled her by popping another couple of grapes into his mouth. Laughing, Rose plucked one off the bunch he held and stuck it in her teeth before bringing her head down to his.

The Doctor smiled, enjoying the game, and kissed her. Their tongues pushed the grape back and forth between their mouths as they kissed, until the Doctor finally pulled away and swallowed it. The cheeky grin he gave her faded slowly as she looked at him, the tension between them growing more and more palpable.

He stroked her cheek, gazing into her eyes tenderly, and Rose felt that familiar melty feeling come over her whole body. He pulled her in for another kiss, this one threatening to consume them both.

His hand rested on her lap, stroking her leg through her muslin gown. His other arm was around her waist, holding her in position, while her fingers tangled in his hair.

Rose slid her lips along his cheek toward the jawline. The starchy cravat he wore got in the way when she tried to kiss his chin, so she sat up purposefully and tried to rid him of the encumbrance. She faltered, realising she had no idea how the bloody thing tied, and he reached up and unknotted it for her, one-handed.

The two of them fell back to kissing, Rose finally able to investigate his neck and throat freely. When she paused for an instant, the Doctor returned the favour in turn. He kissed the underside of her chin, and her throat, and that area just underneath her ear, which always made her shiver pleasurably when the spiky tendrils of his hair tickled her cheek and neck. Then he moved his attentions downwards, sliding his mouth along the side of her neck till he found her collarbone, and laying a series of tiny kisses there.

She arched backwards against his restraining hands as he moved his mouth lower. Both her hands were in his hair, unintentionally pulling a little, although the Doctor was oblivious to the discomfort. She kissed the top of his head as he moved down to kiss and lick the top of her breasts, which were exposed by the neckline of the low-cut gown.

Rose went backwards a little more, nearly losing her balance this time, but the Doctor grabbed her quickly. "Whoa, careful, there," he laughed.

He urged her off his lap with just a little upward pressure of the hands on her waist. She got to her feet reluctantly, and he followed, without removing his hands from their resting place. When they were standing, he slid his arms around her and held her close.

Their mouths met once again as they embraced in front of the fireplace. The Doctor's long fingers deftly unfastened the four buttons at the back of her dress, and he pulled it down to bare her shoulders completely, trailing a row of kisses along the area.

Rose moved away from him long enough to step out of the dress completely, then reached behind her back to untie her stays. She pulled the loosened corset off and stood before the Doctor in her shift, smiling expectantly. He grinned back and pulled her to him once again.

Rose's hands, trapped between their bodies, fumbled with the buttons on his coat. They finally came undone, and he somehow managed to shrug his way out of the thing without breaking the kiss. The waistcoat went next, followed by his shirt. That one was more problematic, and required him to actually stop kissing her long enough to pull the thing over his head. Meanwhile, Rose ripped off her petticoat and stockings impatiently, not bothering with anything like a sexy striptease.

The Doctor noted the fact with amusement, and followed suit. The two of them raced to get undressed, then fell on one another, hands and lips exploring skin. He caressed her from shoulder blades to hips, while she ran her fingers along the backs of his thighs.

She pulled him closer against her, and he still didn't seem close enough. He stayed like that for just a moment, pressing his body against hers, then he moved back and took Rose's hands, lowering her to the floor. She lay back on the rug, and the Doctor stretched out beside her.

He kissed her face again first, running his mouth across lips and cheek and neck before slowly moving down the length of her body. Rose moaned and tilted her head back as he explored her with lips and tongue. Oh, god, the things he could do with that tongue of his!

He wasn't talking, for once, just concentrating on what he was doing, while she writhed beneath his touch. She kept her hands on him, following his movements, wherever she could manage to reach. The Doctor worked his way back up her legs, pausing a little too long at her knees, indulging himself in one of his weird little habits and biting gently at her knee-caps. It seemed to take forever for him to get anywhere near where she wanted him. This was wonderful, incredible, but it wasn't what she needed anymore.

"No, Doctor," she finally managed to gasp. _"Now!_ You're wastin' time."

"Oh, you want the whole thing, do you?" he murmured, mouth still on her. The feel of his breath against her made her shiver. "Aren't you an eager little human, then?"

He gave her one last lick and then moved with that deceptive speed he possessed. In an instant, almost before she had time to prepare herself for the onslaught, he was on top of her, his body covering hers completely. He brought his mouth down on hers, letting her taste herself on him.

He raised his head to smile down at her. "Better, Rose?"

"Mm hmm," she murmured, eyes closed.

"Yes," agreed the Doctor. "Much better."

They found a rhythm, their bodies in sync, breath and heartbeats the only discordant notes. They lost all track of time as they moved together, the Time Lord as oblivious to the passing minutes as his human lover.

Making love in front of a blazing fireplace was certainly a romantic image, but the reality was hot and sticky. Sweat plastered Rose's blonde hair to her forehead and neck, and made her whole body slick. The Doctor was less affected; his lower body temperature meant that he perspired far less than Rose, but his body was nearly as sweat-drenched as hers from sliding against her.

He shifted position, moving only the slightest bit, but the change in contact made Rose cry out in pleasure. She made a kind of sobbing sound deep in her throat as the spasm went through her whole body. She went limp with satisfaction, but the lethargy only lasted a second. "Thank you," she whispered, looking up into his face.

He grinned down at her, and replied breathlessly, "Oh, no, Rose. Thank _you!"_

She pulled his head down to her and kissed him hard, feeling him breathing roughly into her mouth. Then, with a shudder, the Doctor collapsed against her, panting.

Rose said his name softly, lovingly, over and over again. It was a substitute for what she really wanted to tell him but wouldn't let herself, taking her cue from him, as always. He was sorry for that. Just because he couldn't manage to make himself say the words didn't mean she shouldn't. He gave it one more try.

"Rose, I—" he began, and she looked up at him hopefully. He rolled over on his side and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight so he wouldn't have to see those eyes of hers pleading with him. He kissed her forehead, and murmured into her hair, "Oh, Rose. My precious, precious girl. Come to bed, shall we?"

* * *

Rose woke early the next morning, having slept soundly all night. She moved slightly and discovered to her great delight that she wasn't alone. She didn't often have the pleasure of waking up before the Doctor did, and she enjoyed it for the rarity it was.

She stretched out one arm, and started to move closer to him and put her head on his chest. As her bare arm left the warm comfort of the covers, she realised two things. She was naked – they both were – and the fire had died down some time ago. Her nightgown had been placed carefully underneath her pillow by whoever had made the bed the previous day, and it was still more or less there, disarranged by the movement of the pillow throughout the night.

Yawning, Rose slipped it over her head and got out of bed. She shivered in the chill morning air as she padded barefoot over the carpets. She poked the coals in the hearth, making them instantly glow brighter, although there was no substantial increase in heat. With a sigh, she began to pick up the piles of discarded clothing they'd left behind last night, when the Doctor had carried her to bed. Spying the half-eaten bag of grapes, she grabbed those as well, hiding them underneath the clothes when she dumped them by the side of the bed.

Oh, yes, the lock, she realised, just as she was about to climb back into her nice, warm bed. The sonic screwdriver was in the Doctor's chair, half hidden behind the cushions. She grabbed it and held it down close to the fireplace, trying to find enough light to see by.

"Setting twelve. That's the one you want." The Doctor's voice sounded sleepy, but fully alert. Rose looked over to see him sitting up in bed.

"I know that," she answered. "I just can't see to set it."

"Bring it here, then," he said, holding out his hand.

Rose did so, bouncing on the bed as she handed it to him. He didn't even have to look, just flicked the switch, aimed the device at the door, and unlocked it without even having to get out of bed.

"It's cold!" he said accusingly.

"Noticed that, yeah," agreed Rose. Slipping back under the covers with him, she said suggestively, "Want me to warm you up, Doctor?"

Before he could reply, they both heard the telltale sound of the coal bucket, just an instant before the doorknob turned. The little chambermaid closed the door silently behind her, and made her way over to the fireplace, carefully not looking in the direction of the bed.

"Morning, Katie," he said cheerfully. "We're glad to see you. Freezing in here."

The girl gasped in surprise, and her bucket hit the stone hearth with an unholy clang, spilling coal all over the place. She began to pick it up, apologising profusely as she worked.

"Nah, 's my fault," said the Doctor. "Let me help." He started to throw the covers back, but Rose stopped him just in time, digging her nails in when she grabbed his arm. He looked at her, puzzled, then looked down at his bare chest and realised the problem. "Ah."

He scrunched down and pulled the blankets up modestly to his neck. Rose adjusted the pillow for him, placing it behind his back so he could sit up more comfortably. "Very wifely of you," he teased, in a voice that was barely audible.

"Shut up," she whispered back affectionately.

"By the way, Katie, you won't have to worry about us frightening you, or … well, other things … after this. We're leavin' today," announced the Doctor, making the decision at that very instant, the way he tended to decide things. "S'pose you won't be sorry. Don't blame you, really," he added with an embarrassed sort of frown.

"No, sir. We shall be sorry to see you leave," the girl repeated formally. "But we all wish you godspeed on your journey."

"Thanks," laughed Rose, before she could stop herself. "We'll probably need it!"


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

The sun was shining, and the air still smelled wet after yesterday's rain. Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth walked outside to bid a reluctant farewell to their two unexpected guests.

"I do wish you would reconsider and stay with us a little longer," Mrs. Wentworth said.

"Yeah, wish we could," answered Rose, meaning it. Even if she hadn't taken a liking to everybody she'd met, there were some of them she would genuinely miss, including the hosts.

The Doctor, typically, was bouncing impatiently from foot to foot, anxious to be moving again. "We've got places to go, things to do. Maybe we'll see you again, someday. It's always possible."

"Welcome anytime," said Arthur Wentworth sincerely. "There's a horse fair in October. Should be able to find a worthwhile addition or two for the stables. If you are in the country then, I could help you find a bargain."

"Well, yeah. If we're in the country," the Doctor answered noncommittally. "Bye, Arthur. Mrs. Wentworth. Rose?"

She gave Rosemary Wentworth an affectionate hug. "Bye. Thanks for everything." She moved quickly, because the Doctor was already striding away, several paces ahead of her. Rose turned and walked backwards for a minute, and called, "Good luck with the baby!"

"And you," Mrs. Wentworth called back, irrepressibly.

_"That'll_ be the day," Rose said in her normal voice, fairly sure she was out of earshot. The last vestiges of her attempt at ladylike behaviour fell away as she ran the last few feet, closing the distance between her and the Doctor.

She caught up with him and clutched at his arm. "Aren't we goin' to say goodbye to you, then?"

"Yep," he answered, without elaborating.

As they drew near the TARDIS, she understood. The Third Doctor was waiting for them just outside, inspecting the exterior of the police box. He smiled as they approached him.

"Well, I can't say it's been an unrelieved pleasure running into you," he told his older self, "but I've had worse experiences meeting myself."

"Me, too," the Tenth Doctor admitted.

"Yes, well, let's try not to do it again, shall we?"

"Damn good idea," Rose's Doctor agreed.

The two Doctors studied one another, trying to decide whether to part company with sarcasm or amity. The Third Doctor, deciding that this young-looking, overly emotional vestige of himself was one of the more affable versions he'd had the misfortune to run across, chose to take the high road.

He stuck out his hand, and after staring at it blankly for a moment, his older self grabbed it, shook it briskly, and then threw his arms around himself. The Third Doctor was considerably surprised by the hug, and more than a touch embarrassed. He harrumphed, and his future self stood there beaming at him.

"Thanks," the Tenth Doctor said simply, knowing he'd understand what he meant.

The Third Doctor merely nodded. With a quick glance at Rose, he said, "Good luck."

"Right."

The grey-haired man smiled affectionately at Rose, and took her hand between both of his. "Goodbye, my dear," he told her. "I look forward to meeting you."

She didn't even try to sort out the confusion of Time Lord tenses to answer him in kind. Instead, she embraced him, feeling him respond to her hug with rather more enthusiasm than the last one he'd been given, and then stood up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Bye, Doctor," she smiled.

"Goodbye, Rose," he repeated. "Bye, Doctor."

"You too, Doctor."

As he walked away, Rose's Doctor turned to her and said indignantly, "Weren't you kissing the wrong Doctor just then?"

"Nnooo, don't think so," she answered, pleased with herself. "Figured he'd at leas' let me actually kiss him in front of somebody without trippin' over himself to run away in embarrassment."

His eyes widened, and he started to protest. "I never ... that's not quite ... here, you just wait." He wagged his finger at her. Raising his voice slightly, he called to his other self, "Decided to take your advice, look."

He bent down and kissed Rose full on the mouth, while the other Doctor looked on with a patronising expression.

"Yes, very nice," he said drily. "Congratulations."

As he walked away, Rose smacked her Doctor in the chest. "That was childish," she scolded him.

"'S not my fault," he replied, sounding a bit petulant. "It's his."

"Sure, it is, Doctor," Rose said, as he unlocked the door of the TARDIS.

* * *

Rose came back into the console room, feeling much better after proper shower and a change into her familiar, comfortable jeans and T-shirt. It was good to see the Doctor looking like himself again in his brown pinstripes, as well. 

The Doctor, peering through his glasses at the viewscreen on the console, didn't look up. "Where shall we go next?" he asked.

"Don't mind," she answered.

"Mm," he said. "Someplace where there's not another me, obviously."

"Definitely. Though, I have to admit it was a bit … different. How 'bout someplace where there's nobody we know at all?"

The Doctor looked up and grinned. "Better yet," he suggested with sudden enthusiasm, "how about somewhere there's _nobody_ at all?"

"Ooh, I like that idea."

Rose leaned against the console, resting her hands along the edge, and suddenly noticed the fake wedding ring she'd forgotten to take off. She slipped it off her hand, and glanced around for someplace to put it. The Doctor was busy setting co-ordinates, and chattering about his plans, so asking him was out of the question. With a shrug, she placed the bio-damper ring in the fork of one of the curving supports, where the Doctor would find it, many months later, and wonder how the hell a bio-damper got there.

"I know this absolutely marvellous little meteor shower," he was saying. "About, ooh, twelve-thousand years ago? And there's a sparsely populated planet that's in just the right place to watch it. We could camp out!" he exclaimed.

Rose was doubtful. "Camp out?" she said.

"Yeah, why not? The grass is nice and soft and thick, and there's an unobstructed view of the sky. What d'you think?" He looked at her, an expectant smile on his face.

She took his hand and smiled back at him. "What're we waitin' for?"

_The End_


End file.
